Cracked Reflections
by All-Seeing-Espeon
Summary: A few weeks after Kristoph's last court appearance, Apollo believed he'd come to terms with his former mentor's manipulative nature. But following news of Kristoph's escape, he finds the murderer has other plans for him. Held hostage in his own home, Apollo is forced to face the consequences of his ex-mentor's influence on him...as well as Kristoph's unrelenting fury. Post AJ:AA.
1. Prologue

"Sir? Are you ready?"

Kristoph opened his eyes.

It took him a second to adjust to the darkness. Pale light streamed past the bars of his cell door, casting a grim shadow on the dusty cement floor.

A scruffy face bobbed up and peered into the cell. Kristoph smirked.

"Just a moment, Martinez."

Kristoph stood up, straightening his deep lavender suit. With any luck, the prison dirt would be easy to brush off. Anything was better than the drab inmate garb he had been forced to wear for the past…well, he had lost track of time himself.

"Please, Mr. Gavin. We need to hurry up. I'm opening the door now."

The steel door creaked open, yielding a sliver of space just wide enough for Kristoph to slip through. Once he did, Kristoph found himself face to face with a portly guard.

"The suit was an excellent touch," Kristoph said. The guard furiously wiped the sweat off his brow, gaze darting around as if expecting an alarm to go off any minute.

"Right, Mr. Gavin. I brought the cart." The guard gestured to the silver trolley down the hall. "I checked this morning, I'm pretty sure you can squeeze in the cabinet. If not, we'll try again tomorrow—"

Kristoph pushed up his glasses, and they flashed from the glare of the lights above. "No. We will succeed on the first attempt. _Won't_ we, Martinez?"

The guard seemed to sweat even more profusely with those words. He fidgeted with the keys and looked away. "Y-Yes, Mr. Gavin."

"Very good." Kristoph cast the guard a pleasant smile. All his effort would be worth nothing if Martinez remained this agitated. "Don't worry. My younger brother will no doubt be sympathetic enough to sue the insurance company on your wife's behalf once I speak to him. Not to mention how grateful he will be."

"Please, sir. I'm only doing this for them."

Kristoph tilted his head, still smiling. "Of course. With my brother's help, I will make sure your family is rid of debt. I've told you of my previous cases, have I not?"

Martinez nodded, swallowing heavily. "Coolest defense in the West."

"Correct," Kristoph said. The ex-defense attorney looked beyond the guard and fixed his gaze on the gleaming dinner cart. His ticket to freedom. "Shall we?"

Martinez jolted. A gleam in the guard's eye showed that Kristoph's affirmation had invigorated the foolish man. "Yes. Let's go, sir!"

For an instant, Kristoph glanced back at his old cell. Fury bubbled deep in his gut, and a twisted chuckle threatened to escape from his lips. They had thought that was the end of him, didn't they?

He closed the cell door, taking in his last breath of musty prison air.

No one would ever underestimate him again.


	2. News

"Bye Polly! Bye Daddy!"

"Bye, Trucy! Be good! Love you!"

Trucy turned back one last time and beamed, her face lighting up as she waved at the two men standing in front of the Agency. Phoenix waved back, an equally joyful smile dancing on his lips.

Apollo groaned and begrudgingly began to lift his hand up. His voice fell flat on his ears. "Bye, Tru—ow!"

He stumbled as a sharp nudge connected with his side. His gaze whipped towards the culprit, but Phoenix's eyes remained fixed on Trucy.

"Say it properly, Apollo." Phoenix said, chuckling as Trucy twirled for them. It was strange to see her without her powder blue cape and accompanying top hat, but school was no place for a magician's garb. Instead, she donned a winter coat and arctic blue earmuffs, as well as a large galaxy backpack.

Apollo shivered and hugged his arms as a cold draft whistled past.

"We've already said goodbye to her five times, Mr. Wright," he protested. He gestured to the thin film of snow covering the front steps of the Agency. "I don't understand why we have to come outside and say it—"

"Winter break ends too soon." Phoenix interrupted. Apollo rolled his eyes. He'd lost count of how many times he'd heard that phrase this morning. It was clear that Mr. Wright was once again lost in sentimentality.

Another freezing gust sliced through Apollo's thin red vest and even thinner patience. He glared at Phoenix, only to find that the man was still smiling serenely, unfazed by the biting wind. Apollo instantly found himself longing for the thick hoodie and colorful beanie that he'd mentally scorned as "hobo attire" for as long as he'd been at the Agency.

"Mr. Wright, it's getting too cold—_ow_, stop that!"

Phoenix had "nudged" him again, this time elbowing him in the stomach. "Smile and say goodbye, Apollo."

Apollo grasped his arms even tighter, striking an indignant pose. "Mr. Wright, I already said—"

"Apollo." Phoenix's voice dropped to a lower tone. Apollo's skin crawled as Mr. Wright stared straight at him, steel flashing in the older man's eyes. This time, the chill wasn't from the cold. "Say goodbye to my daughter. Nicely."

"Y-Yes, Mr. Wright." Apollo stammered, quickly obliging. He forced a grin and waved at Trucy, watching her giggle in delight.

Phoenix clapped him on the shoulder. Apollo jumped, feeling a pit in his stomach as he turned to face the older man. However, the dark look on Phoenix's face had morphed back into a sunny disposition, and Mr. Wright seemed as cheerful as he was before.

Something told Apollo never to mess with Mr. Wright's affection for Trucy again.

"See you, Polly!" Trucy called.

"See you, Trucy!" Apollo yelled back. His chords of steel made his words echo louder than the howling wind. "Good luck at school!"

The young magician smiled and bounded off, presumably so she wouldn't be late for the bus. Apollo watched her race down the street, her hands wrapped around the straps of her backpack and her fluffy blue earmuffs jostling on her head. She definitely had enough energy to take on high school.

Once Trucy turned a corner and finally sprinted out of sight, Phoenix let out a deep breath.

"Kids, huh?" Phoenix remarked, raising his eyebrows at Apollo.

Unfortunately, Apollo was too concerned with the fact that his fingers were becoming frostbitten to come up with a decent response.

"Yeah…kids…" Apollo mumbled.

Phoenix shook his head, his mouth twisting into a smirk. "What am I saying? You're only a kid yourself." Before Apollo could protest, Phoenix removed his beanie and slipped it snugly over Apollo's ears. Although it was still cold out, Apollo's could feel his face burning. "Come on, kid. Your lips are turning blue."

"Th-Thank you, Mr. Wright." Apollo stuttered, trying to suppress his embarrassment. It didn't seem to be working. Not only could he hear Phoenix's laughter, but he could see it materializing in the wintry air.

"No problem." Phoenix said. With that, the ex-attorney turned back and headed into the Agency. Apollo followed close on his heels, hoping to get out of the harsh weather as fast as possible.

As soon as they entered, Phoenix made a beeline for one of the rust-colored couches and sank into it, somehow managing to look exhausted and content at the same time. Apollo gingerly removed the vibrant beanie and placed it on the coffee table.

Phoenix tilted his head, an inquisitive look in his eye. "You could keep wearing it, you know."

"No thanks." Apollo said. Truthfully, each second the beanie had remained on his head only made him more stressed. He was still working out how he felt about Mr. Wright, and these casual interactions were getting harder for him to parse.

"Aw. That's too bad," Phoenix lamented, "Since you really did look like a cute little kid for a bit."

Apollo did a double take. "Excuse me? _What?_"

Phoenix shrugged, nonchalant as ever. Apollo clenched his fists, biting his tongue. For a second his mind flashed back to when he had punched the man, and he felt a small burst of satisfaction. He felt guilty about it most of the time, but in moments like these…

"I'm going to do the paperwork." Apollo muttered. His irritation was beginning to fade. Maybe calling him a kid was Mr. Wright's weird idea of a compliment. Besides, the beanie _had_ kept him warm for a few moments…

Well, nothing like a healthy dose of mind-numbing legal jargon to drown out the complicated feelings. A good batch of tedious, repetitive, lifeless terminology was sure to—

"Wait, Apollo. We need to talk."

Apollo froze. A stab of worry pierced his brain at the infamous words.

After a few seconds of waiting, it was replaced by anticipation for a joke.

"What is it?" Apollo said. Any time now. As soon as he let his guard down, Phoenix was sure to ask for something insignificant like coffee or grape juice. Then, the man would laugh and tell him not to be so tense. That was it, wasn't it?

"You should sit down for this." Phoenix said, gesturing to the couch across his own. Apollo's brain raced to find an explanation. Was he getting fired? It felt like he was going to get fired. "I'm sorry if you wanted to know this earlier, but I had to wait until Trucy was out of the house. It's…sensitive." Oh god, he really _was_ getting fired. All the mistakes he made flashed through his mind. Why did he ever punch Mr. Wright? Had Klavier mentioned the forehead joke one too many times? Was the beanie a test that he just failed? "Um…please sit, Apollo."

"Oh, r-right." The maelstrom of negative possibilities rampaging his mind had paralyzed him. He sat on the edge of the couch, unable to release the tension from his muscles. He tried to force himself to relax.

_I'm fine. I'm fine. I can always get a new job. I'm fine. It could still be a prank—_

"I hate to tell you this Apollo, but—"

"Mr. Wright, please don't fire me!"

Phoenix blinked. Apollo smacked a hand on his face and chewed on the inside of his cheek. He was done for. The outburst had escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." Apollo backtracked. There was no way to make this worse than it already was. There were bound to be other places hiring, right? But even if there were, how was he going to explain that he'd be fired by _the_ Phoenix Wright? "I didn't mean to, Mr. Wright, I respect your deci—"

"I'm not firing you, Apollo." Phoenix stated.

Apollo's breath caught in his throat.

_I'm…not being fired?_

"Oh. Sorry about that." Apollo said. He attempted to slick back his hair to seem collected, but his hands were trembling too much. He settled for nervous laughter. "I guess…I guess I got too anxious."

"Hey, it's alright." Phoenix said, looking genuinely remorseful. "I didn't mean to give you that impression. I'd never do that to you."

"Well then…what is it?" Apollo questioned. Now that the fear of being sacked had been eliminated, he was starting to calm down. Nothing could be worse than that news.

Phoenix leaned closer, an unnerving solemness written into his expression.

"It's Kristoph Gavin. He's escaped prison."


	3. Revelations

"Escaped…prison?"

The words tasted strange in Apollo's mouth. He leaned back into the couch, all the tension in his limbs dissipating in an instant. _Kristoph escaped._ No matter how many times he repeated the sentence in his brain, it still didn't make sense.

His fingers drifted to his bracelet, and he caught himself staring intently at Phoenix. He scanned the older man's face for some sign of a lie, any sign of a lie. It had come to the point where if this turned out to be some twisted joke, he wouldn't even be upset.

Phoenix's gaze remained even.

Apollo suddenly felt very lightheaded.

"I know it's hard to hear." Phoenix said, in an obvious attempt to comfort him. To Apollo, the consolation felt hollow.

"When?" Apollo asked. His voice fell soft. "When did it happen, Mr. Wright?"

"Two nights ago." At Apollo's incredulous look, Phoenix elaborated further. "I only found out yesterday. I wanted to tell you sooner, but—"

"Right. Trucy."

Uncomfortable silence engulfed the two of them. Apollo pressed one of his temples, forcing himself to think of more questions to ask. A surge of shock kicked his mind into overdrive when he realized he was having trouble coming up with any.

_This isn't real. It can't be._

"There's a chance it could be fake." Apollo said, resting his fingers on his chin. "A false alarm, maybe? It's only been a few months, and he's in solitary—"

Phoenix's grim tone cut him off before he could come up with a valid theory.

"No, Apollo."

The sentence circled through his mind again.

_Kristoph escaped._

Something in him snapped.

"You're lying." Apollo spat. He clenched his bracelet, trying to convince himself that he was detecting something. "Don't fucking joke about this, Mr. Wright."

The words slipped out before he could control himself, but he didn't care. An inexplicable wave of rage flooded his system. He seethed as Phoenix took a deep breath, looking completely unfazed by Apollo's sudden outburst.

"I'm not lying." Phoenix stated. The man's calm demeanor only made Apollo more frustrated.

"How did you even find out?" Apollo pressed. He glared at Phoenix, riding the high of fury but not knowing why he felt this angry. "Who told you? If you can show me a single newscast—"

"I got a call from Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth."

Apollo raised his eyebrows. Miles Edgeworth? That name was all too familiar. He recalled the days when he pored over each of Phoenix's cases, immediately remembering the primly dressed and scathingly serious prosecutor. Even before he became a lawyer, he could tell what kind of person Edgeworth was. Stern, solemn, and…not a jokester.

As if reading his next thought, Phoenix pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed him the screen. There, at exactly 8:03pm, Phoenix had received a call from none other than "Miles".

"Prosecutor Edgeworth's climbing the ranks pretty quickly nowadays. He supervises newer prosecutors…including someone you already know." Phoenix said. Apollo knew exactly who he meant.

"Klavier."

"Yes." Phoenix stuffed his phone in his hoodie's pocket before elaborating. "They called his office first to let him know. They're worried that Kristoph's going to go after Klavier."

"That's…" Apollo trailed off, unsure of how to end his sentence. Insane? Terrible? Obvious? His frown deepened when he realized that out of all the people Kristoph might contact out of prison, Klavier was sure to be the first one.

"They're going to station police around the office for the time being." Phoenix said. "And that's another thing…the police will be coming here, too."

"Wait…_what?_"

This was going too fast. The simple fact that Kristoph was somewhere out there, basking in newfound freedom, was enough to send Apollo reeling. But a police presence around the Agency?

_It's too real._

"I spoke to one of the chiefs on the Agency phone before you came in today," Phoenix continued, "And he's going to send some officers to keep an eye on the Agency. Other than Klavier, they said that Kristoph's next target is most likely me."

Phoenix looked away, but Apollo already saw it. A spark of worry had consumed the man's gaze for an instant, but he had hid it as fast as it had come.

Phoenix Wright was afraid.

A stone of guilt sank into Apollo's stomach, crushing all the doubts he'd had about the situation. The fact that he'd lashed out at Phoenix about this made him want to shrink and shrink until no one could see him anymore. Here Phoenix was, gently updating him about the fact that Kristoph might attempt murder on the man himself...and Apollo had cursed him out.

"Mr. Wright…I'm so sorry, I had no idea…" Apollo began, knowing it was not nearly enough for how apologetic he actually was. Phoenix waved a hand, dismissing the sentiment entirely.

"Look, it's alright. That's not why I'm telling you this." Phoenix said. A purposeful look crossed the man's face as he adjusted his beanie. "There are two things you need to do now."

"Of course, Mr. Wright." Apollo said. He'd do anything to make up for how he'd acted. "What are they?"

"First, I want you to talk to Klavier." Phoenix said. Apollo attempted to keep a neutral expression, but Phoenix's disappointed look revealed that some form of reluctance had made itself clear. The forehead jokes, air guitar moves, and general sense of smugness had not made Apollo Klavier's biggest fan.

"I'll try." Apollo said, hoping it was enough to appease Phoenix. It was not.

"No. You won't 'try', you'll talk." Phoenix replied. The man crossed his fingers together, taking on a sterner tone. "You lost your mentor, Apollo. But Klavier lost his brother. His own family."

It was true. Apollo hadn't considered it, but the suave persona that Klavier had put on the first time they'd met had dimmed considerably since then. He'd usually avoided interactions with Klavier outside of court to prevent himself from dealing with another forehead joke, but when he did run into him…

"He seems empty." Apollo finished out loud. "First Kristoph, then Daryan…and now Kristoph again…"

Phoenix nodded. "Those sorts of things take a toll on someone." The man gazed off into the distance. A strange look flashed in his eyes. "One of my closest friends…her sister was my mentor, and she was murdered, too. You've probably seen the trial." Apollo had. He had watched that trial far more than any others, just because of the sheer amount of composure Phoenix had shown in the face of a tragedy. Any other man would've broken down and forfeited the field, but Phoenix Wright remained resilient as always. "I was distraught, but she was, too. Having her by my side kept me sane. And with my help, she was able to move on as well." Phoenix focused on him again. "I want you to do the same for Klavier."

"Yes, Mr. Wright." This time, there was no hesitation. "I will."

"Good." Phoenix said. He seemed content with the affirmation. "Now about the second thing. Come stay at the Agency."

Apollo paused, taken aback by the blunt request. "What do you mean?"

Phoenix gestured to some of the rooms. "I mean, come and live here. There's plenty of space, and Trucy loves to have you around."

"Oh…Mr. Wright, thank you." Apollo said. He swallowed, bracing himself for what would come next. "But I can't."

Now it was Phoenix's turn to be surprised. "Why not? It wouldn't be a burden, if that's what you're worried about."

"I really appreciate it, sir. Seriously." Apollo rubbed the back of his neck. "The thing is…I have a cat, and I'll need to look after her…"

"Bring the cat here." Phoenix said, shrugging. "Trucy loves animals, anyway."

"It's not just that." Apollo murmured.

Phoenix furrowed his brow. "You know I'm worried about you too, right?" Before Apollo could respond, Phoenix shoved his hands into his hoodie's pockets and shook his head. "Kid, I can tell you're struggling. Trucy and I…we can help you."

Apollo considered it for a moment. Sleeping comfortably in one of the Agency rooms, waking up early each morning to make Trucy pancakes before school. Pouring Mr. Wright a glass of grape juice and settling on the couch to read case files all day. Maybe Mr. Wright would tease him a bit, or ruffle his hair, just to give him a break once in a while. Then Trucy would come back and practice magic tricks with him until he was exhausted beyond belief. He could imagine himself drifting away on the couch after round of late night paperwork, only to wake up to a bright blue jacket draped over him.

Kristoph had done similar things for him before.

He remembered staying at his old office later than usual once, and Kristoph treating them both to Chinese food for the night. He remembered fetching Kristoph a steaming mug of coffee and two cubes of sugar, and glowing when the man cast him a grateful smile. He remembered Kristoph taking him out for walks when he spent too long studying a case. He remembered sleeping over a couple of old records, and waking up to find a deep lavender blazer over his shoulders.

As nice as Kristoph was to him, he had ended up a murderer.

As well meaning as Phoenix sounded, he had forged evidence.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wright." Apollo finally said. He couldn't do it. He couldn't get attached to someone like that again, only to have the rug ripped out underneath him, floor collapsing into ruin. "I need my space."

A mix of emotions that Apollo couldn't discern crossed Phoenix's face. He tried to guess what he was seeing. Disappointment? Dejection? Before he could focus on anything, Phoenix laughed quietly and fell backwards into the couch.

"Lone wolf?" Phoenix said, with a hint of snark. Still, one thing was overwhelmingly clear…Phoenix understood. "I get it. You're a brave kid."

"Thank you, sir." Apollo responded. They both knew that it wasn't for the compliment.

Phoenix stood up, stretching his arms and letting out a long yawn. His mouth curved into a lopsided grin. "What are you thanking me for? _I'm_ going to be the one saying that... once you get me a glass of grape juice, obviously."

Apollo groaned, muttering things about "laziness" and "drowsy hobos" before slinking into the kitchen. Phoenix watched him with a smile dancing on his lips, but his hands slipped into the pocket of his hoodie, fingers running over a smooth green charm. Although the conversation had ended, he still shivered at the sight of those cold, ebony barriers.

The first man he'd seen Black Psyche-Locks on was Kristoph Gavin.

The second was Apollo Justice.


	4. Fleeting Connection

Apollo had been staring at his phone for the last three minutes.

His finger hovered over the call button, a hair's breadth away from pressing it…before darting away again. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. The easiest task of the day was taking its toll on him.

Maybe he was overthinking it. He looked at the phone once more. In an instant, a thousand awkward scenarios ran rampant through his mind.

Scratch that—he was _definitely_ overthinking it.

He hunched over the desk and rested his head on his arms. The name on the screen continued to stare up at him, as if mocking his hesitation.

Frustration boiled deep in his gut. Before he could stop himself, an unwelcome thought sprang from the back of his mind.

_What would Mr. Wright do?_

He clenched his teeth and pressed a hand on the top of his head, flattening his spiked hair. Even now, he still cringed at the fact that he used to ask himself that question every time he was stuck on a case in the past. Back then, it had seemed noble to look up to someone he considered a living legend. Now, though…

Well, Phoenix would probably just smirk at him. There was a fifty-fifty chance that a quip would accompany it, but words weren't necessary for the ex-attorney to expertly embarrass Apollo. If anything, Phoenix would simply raise his eyebrows, fixing him with a curious look. After a moment, a single chuckle would escape from the man's mouth…followed by a deep sigh.

Apollo tensed at the thought. There was the answer—Mr. Wright would be amused, but ultimately disappointed that the only attorney left in the Agency couldn't make a single phone call. Thank god Phoenix was lounging in the living room instead of peering over his shoulder right now.

"Alright," he muttered to himself, "I'm fine. I'm _fine_."

If anything, that only incensed his nerves. He dragged a hand across his face, cursing his unreasonable anxiety. The very idea of a spontaneous conversation made his stomach twist in knots.

_Maybe I should plan what I say…_

That would make the beginning of the call a bit more bearable, at the very least. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen, laying them flat on the desk. No harm in practicing lines before going through with it.

He pressed the pen to the blank sheet.

**Hello, Prosecutor Gavin. This is Mr. Justice.**

He frowned. That was way too formal. He hastily scribbled over it and began again.

**Gavin, it's me. Apollo Justice.**

What was this, a call from a contract killer? He sounded like a Bond villain who had just revealed himself as the mastermind. Another line scratched out.

**Hey, Klavier. This is Apollo.**

Short and sweet enough. Less rigid than the other ones, but still a proper introduction. He decided to continue before he could overanalyze it further.

**So I heard about Kristoph—**

Whoa, that was quick. Before he knew it, he was diving into the sensitive topic headfirst. He etched out the words. What was a better way to transition from "hey, person that I haven't seen in days" to "tell me about your psycho brother"?

He had a feeling this was going to take a while.

And it did. After half an hour of agonizing over each sentence, each transition, each _word_, he finally had something somewhat acceptable. He reread the short paragraph, scanning for any errors or poor phrasing. It actually wasn't too bad. Not so serious that he sounded robotic, and not so casual that it came off as weird. There were still some things he was iffy about, but—

"Hey Polly, what's that?"

"_Shit!_ It's nothing, it's nothing!"

The words flew out of Apollo's mouth as he slammed his palm over the text, attempting to cover the evidence. Unfortunately, Trucy was already peeking at the gaps between his fingers.

"Is that a letter?" She asked, pointing at it with her wand. Before she could catch any more of it, he hurriedly flipped the sheet over.

"It's not! It's really not," he started, feeling the heat rising to his face, "Ah, damn it...it's, um, just work—"

Before he could explain further, a stern voice interrupted him from the living room.

"Apollo! _Language!_"

"S-Sorry Mr. Wright!" Apollo stammered back. The warning behind the muffled reprimand was crystal clear.

Trucy only giggled. "Daddy doesn't like you saying bad words around me, does he?"

"No…" Apollo rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. Any time he cursed around Trucy, Phoenix would cast him a withering glare. "Definitely not…"

The young magician huffed and crossed her arms. She raised her chin, looking off to the side with an irritated expression. "I just got back from _high school!_ Come on, Apollo. Don't tell me you think I haven't heard anyone say—"

"Right, right!" Apollo quickly intervened. He pressed his hand to her mouth, preventing her from finishing her sentence. "Mr. Wright is a hundred percent right. I didn't mean it."

Trucy pushed him away, rolling her eyes. "Fine, I get it."

Relieved, Apollo let out a deep breath. He really didn't want to have Mr. Wright on his case today. "Okay, good. You shouldn't say that sort of stuff, anyway—hey!"

Trucy was too quick…and too clever. Apollo realized that as soon as he had moved his hand off of the paper and covered her mouth, she had inched closer and closer to the desk. In an instant, she snatched the sheet and darted a good few feet away from Apollo's grasp, her eyes hungrily scanning the words he had scrawled.

"Trucy, don't!" Apollo warned. It was no use. She cleared her throat and began reading it aloud.

"**'Hey, Klavier. This is Apollo.'** Wow, what an opening," Trucy commented, fixing him with a sly grin. Apollo shot to his feet and strode over to her, reaching frantically for the paper. She dodged him and flitted over to the other side of the desk, letting it act as a barrier between them. "**'I know we haven't talked in a while. Life's pretty busy outside the courtroom, after all.'**" She snickered. "What tipped you off, the rockstar part or the prosecutor part?"

"That's enough!" Apollo exclaimed, racing around the desk with his arm outstretched. Trucy nimbly sprinted the other way and ignored him.

"**'Either way, I wanted to check in and see how you were doing.'** Oh my god." Trucy paused in her tracks and pressed a hand to her chest, as if she was touched by the words. "You _do_ care about him!"

"What? No!" Apollo protested. As she remained fixed on that sentence, he managed to grab the edge of her cape. "Give it back!"

"Just let me read it! Come on!" Trucy cried, trying to yank herself away. Apollo's grip remained steadfast. "**'Mr. Wright told me about recent events.'** What does that mean—hey! Noooo, I'm almost done!"

Apollo pulled himself towards her and closed his hand around the paper's edge. Just as he was about to tear it away, she swiftly announced the last sentence.

"**'Anyway, let me know.'** Wait…that's it? That's how you ended?"

Apollo finally seized the sheet from her hands, but there was no point to it anymore. He let out a low grumble and retreated, sinking back in his desk chair. His forehead throbbed...a headache was coming on. It had sounded adequate on paper, but after Trucy had read it aloud…

"You don't have to be so self conscious, Polly." Trucy said. He covered his face with the sheet in response. "It wasn't that bad! I mean, not to say that it was bad or anything…"

"Listen, Trucy." Apollo said. He slammed the paper back on the desk, resisting the urge to crumple it. "I'm only calling Klavier because Mr. Wright told me to. That's all."

Trucy raised her eyebrows, an inquisitive look shining in her eyes. She rested her index finger on her chin and looked in the distance, as if trying to piece together an invisible puzzle. "But why? You always try to avoid him."

Apollo opened his mouth to respond. In less than a second, he snapped it shut again. An unbidden image crossed his mind.

Man in a violet suit, hunched over. A maddening smile. Hysterical laughter.

Mr. Wright's footsteps shuffling somewhere outside in the living room jolted him back to reality. He could feel his heart climbing into his throat. Even an old, legendary defense attorney like Phoenix was willing to keep secrets...all for Trucy's safety.

This time, he agreed. He looked away when the young magician's eyes flicked back at him, vibrant and lively and searching for answers. He couldn't possibly tell her.

"Another thing Daddy doesn't want you to tell me, huh?" Trucy asked. Apollo whipped his gaze back up at her, completely taken aback. She simply shrugged at his surprise. "What? That's fine…Daddy has a lot of things he has to tell me." Before Apollo could dissect that statement, she clapped her hands together and moved on. "But there's no way you're using that paper to call Klavier!"

"E-Excuse me?" Apollo said. The change in subject was too sudden...and too smooth.

Trucy fixed him with a determined gaze. "Let's try something else. Give me your phone."

"Um...here..." Apollo slipped his phone out of his pocket and placed it in her outstretched hand. Questions bounced off of every corner of his skull. How much did Trucy know? Did she figure it out? Or did she really just accept that Phoenix kept things from her? If so, why was she so calm about it? Why didn't she want to know the truth?

And why had Apollo given her his phone?

All that speculation had locked Apollo into a trance...one where he did whatever Trucy told him, it seemed. Being lost in his thoughts, he hadn't considered the full implications of what he had done. Only after watching Trucy merrily tap away on his device without a care in the world did he realize just how much power he'd given her.

He peered over, wondering how he was going to seize his phone back and how much damage control he'd need to do.

Trucy had scrolled well into the "K" section of his contacts and was now clicking on a certain German name. His brain immediately began going haywire.

_Not damage control! Emergency! EMERGENCY!_

"Trucy, DON'T—" Apollo shouted, shooting to his feet. He was interrupted by the sound of ringing on the speakerphone.

Then...a suave, silky voice.

"Ja, this is Klavier."

Trucy beamed, pointing to the phone and pushing it into Apollo's hands. He fumbled and nearly dropped it in his scramble to lift it to his ear and compose himself. His mind flew into a panic, focusing on only one thought.

_I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready_—

"H-Hey, Klavier. It's, um, it's Apollo." He managed to stutter. Trucy gave him a thumbs up, mouthing the word "cute" rather cheekily. Apollo shot her an irritated glare.

"Ja, Forehead, I know. I saved your number ages ago." Klavier chuckled. Apollo tried not to imagine slamming his own head on the desk. "What can mein handsome self do for you?"

Maybe this conversation could still be salvaged. Apollo desperately thought back to the script he'd written just minutes ago, trying to recall exactly how he'd phrased things. "I know we haven't talked in a while, but...I mean, life's been pretty busy outside of court..."

Klavier laughed. What a slick, charming laugh it was. Apollo's grip on the phone tightened when it easily shifted into sarcasm. "Observant as always, Herr Forehead."

Apollo huffed and covered the phone's mouthpiece, holding it away from his face. Trucy gestured to it wildly, hurried whispers slipping off her tongue.

"Come on, tell him the next thing!" she urged, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Apollo shook his head and hissed back at her. "Trucy, no! He's just making fun of me!"

She frowned. "Say it already!"

Apollo gritted his teeth. "No! I'm going to hang up!"

"You're so rude, Polly! Just tell him—"

"He always does this, I don't want to—"

"Do it, Apollo, or I swear to god I'll tell Daddy you used the f-word in front of me—!"

"Hallo? Forehead?" Klavier's voice sounded out through the speaker and cut their argument short.

Trucy pouted. Apollo sighed.

Then he took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come. "Listen, Klavier. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Mr. Wright...he told me what's happened."

Klavier was quiet for a moment too long.

"K...Klavier?"

"So you know, then?"

Klavier's voice had fallen soft. Apollo lowered his own and faced away from Trucy, silently turning off speakerphone. This wasn't something to broadcast.

"Yeah...I'm sorry." Apollo responded. Of course, no amount of condolences would help.

Trucy inched closer, trying to pick back up on the conversation. Her whispering grew more invasive. "What're you talking about? What did he say? Why'd you—"

She tugged on his sleeve, motioning for him to give the phone back to her. He raised his hands in a placating gesture and shook his head. Now wasn't the time for her to know.

"Shhh," Apollo hushed."Everything's fine."

On the other side of the line, Klavier took a shaky breath. "Danke, Justice."

"W-What?" Apollo said, jumping at the random response. It took him a moment to understand just what Klavier had thought. "Ah, that was actually for..." Before he could clarify anything, the explanation died on his lips. Somehow, his comment to Trucy had ended up comforting Klavier. That was all that mattered. "You know what, never mind."

"He is...he is mein Bruder, after all." Klavier continued gingerly. A melancholy air weaved itself into the prosecutor's words. "If only...ach, gottverdammt. I simply wish for his safety."

Suddenly, everything surrounding Apollo no longer seemed important. Trucy eagerly waiting for him to finish. Mr. Wright no doubt listening in from the hallway. His own heartbeat, which had been pounding in his ears just moments ago. All of it faded away.

Phoenix was right. Klavier had lost his family. And somewhere stuck in the recesses of his mind, pressed down deep from years and years of repression, was a feeling that Apollo recognized. He'd always kept it chained away, never to be acknowledged.

Today, a sliver of his loss had escaped.

It mirrored Klavier's own.

"Look," he began, trying to avoid spiraling into his memories, "Why don't we meet up tomorrow? We should talk."

A dark haze was settling over his mind. Apollo attempted to shake it away by focusing on Klavier's response.

"Meet up?" Klavier had tried to hide it, but Apollo could detect the shock in the man's tone. It was quickly downplayed by a dramatic gasp. "I never would have guessed...the great Herr Forehead _himself _is willing to spend time with me—"

"Yes, I know." Apollo interrupted, before the teasing could begin again. Deep down, part of him longed to keep that brief connection he'd felt, no matter how despondent it made him feel. "I know, Klavier."

The other side of the line fell quiet once more. Apollo bit his tongue. Clearly, something about the way he'd said that had made it obvious—

"Herr Justice? Are you...alright?"

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Apollo's stomach. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his hands starting to shake. That sort of question...it always made him anxious. "Fine. I'm fine." His bracelet twinged. He mentally cursed himself. "We can talk more tomorrow. Over coffee."

"Ah...ja. Coffee it is then." Klavier responded. The curiosity was still there, but Apollo knew that Klavier was deciding to let it go in favor of asking again tomorrow. "Wear your best outfit."

Apollo's brow furrowed. "My...best outfit? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oooh, a good outfit!" Trucy added. He jolted, suddenly becoming aware that she was still hanging around and hearing his side of the conversation.

Before Apollo could shush her again, Klavier continued. "Your best street wear, Forehead! You are meeting the god of rock, after all." Apollo rolled his eyes. He could imagine Klavier lifting his chin and grinning in that annoyingly self-assured way of his. "Besides, I will wear my worst clothes to match you."

"Your worst to match...? Wait. Hey!"

Klavier laughed at his indignant cry. "Charming, Herr Forehead. But I must be going now."

"Oh, right! Sorry if I held you up." Apollo said, stuffing one of his hands in his pockets.

"Nein, it's nothing. I'm glad you called." Klavier's tone was sincere. For once, Apollo felt a twinge of sadness that their talk was ending so soon. "Give my regards to Fraulein Trucy and Herr Wright. Auf Wiedersehen!"

"Auf...I mean, er, bye."

Apollo ended the call and stared at the screen.

_That actually wasn't too bad._

"So...you're meeting for coffee tomorrow?_" _Trucy piped up. Apollo groaned.

_This will be, though._

"Sorry, that's not really accurate. You _invited _Klavier for coffee?"

Trucy was relentless. Apollo cast her a flat look, but that once seemed to spark more excitement from her. "Don't you start—"

"Seeeeeee? You _don't _hate him!"

Apollo smacked his hand on his face. "I never said I hate him. I just didn't really like him in the first—"

"Admit it! You care about him! _Admit it!" _

Trucy spun around and pointed her wand at him, so close that it was almost touching his nose. Apollo crossed his arms, preparing to refute her statement, but...

Well, it just didn't feel right to say that he _didn't _care. Despite the fact that Klavier had been passing off as calm and unfazed for the majority of the call, that moment of vulnerability really shed some light into exactly how well the young prosecutor was handling everything about Kristoph. And from personal experience, Apollo could tell that he wasn't taking it well.

_Am _I _even taking it well?_

"Alright. Fine." Apollo conceded. "I do care a little."

Trucy cheered and pumped a fist into the air. She looked so happy for such a small statement that Apollo wondered exactly what kind of magic she really had hidden within her. "I knew it! I knew it, I'm going to tell Daddy!"

She sprinted out into the living room and immediately began gushing to Phoenix about how "Polly's making a friend" and "has a heart". Apollo slipped his phone back into his pocket, replaying the conversation in his head. For some reason, he'd only started feeling all those old, uncomfortable emotions after Klavier mentioned he was worried about Kristoph.

_Do I care about Kristoph too?_

A disgusting feeling crept along his spine, and he tried to shake the question away. Still, it stuck. Why couldn't he forget about it? And why did he know the answer?

Phoenix's laughter broke the spell. Well, he had to save some of his dignity by letting Mr. Wright know how the conversation _really_ went, instead of Trucy's fairytale version. Besides, he was going to talk about all of this with Klavier tomorrow. That would get it out of his system.

One last thought flitted through his mind before he forced himself out into the living room.

_Why do I still care?_


	5. A Key Decision

It was well past midnight when Kristoph reached.

He adjusted his glasses and peered outside the cab window, trying to get a glimpse of the building. Even with the grace of the pale moonlight, it looked much drearier than he'd remembered. Without the golden placard shining "Gavin and co." for everyone to see, the office seemed lifeless.

Of course, a closer view would help. The cab rolled to a stop in front of the 24 hour pharmacy, just a few buildings away from his true destination. The driver shifted to park and turned back just enough to hold out his hand.

"That'll be 19.75," the cab driver grumbled, "Cash only."

Kristoph smiled, reaching into the inside of his blazer. "Of course."

He ran his fingers along the inside of a coat until he felt the line of rough stitches just above the actual pocket. It was hasty work, but he couldn't blame himself. Three minutes in the court bathroom before being hauled off to jail had not been enough time for skilled embroidery. Besides, the stray toothpick and old floss he had found lying next to the sink had done well enough to create a secret pocket within his suit blazer.

It had served its purpose. His fingers tore through the crude stitches, brushing against the smooth surface of well pressed notes. He pulled out a thin wad of cash and unfolded it, pleasantly surprised that the police hadn't discovered his hidden riches.

Three 100 dollar bills and three 20s. Good enough for now. He pressed one of the 20s into the cab driver's waiting palm and stepped outside of the car, waiting until it disappeared down the street. An hour's walk from the prison had been tiring, but necessary to ensure that he'd become a part in the monotony of the cab driver's day. Even if the cab driver heard news about him, it'd mean nothing. Kristoph's face had evaded the man's memory.

He turned to the bright pharmacy, noting the neon 24 hour sign blinking pitifully. It was 3:30am right now. At this time of year, the only person stationed at the reception would be an intern, who would rotate out within a week or two anyway.

Shopping didn't take long, and he had been right. The bleary eyed intern didn't even look up at him while checking out his items—a shaving kit, toothbrush, bar of soap, and…something special. With his necessities in tow, he strode down the street.

It had been a long time since he'd been home.

The large potted plants positioned outside the door were withering now, leaves drooping and crumbling away. Kristoph knelt next to one of them and brushed away the leaves, examining the stem of the plant. Brown and dead. No matter. He dug his hand into the dirt and scooped out a few layers, revealing dried roots, torn nodules, and a glistening silver key.

"Emergencies only", the label on the key read. He chuckled.

The key slid into the lock, and the door creaked open. Kristoph's footsteps echoed as he paced around his old office. He dragged his fingers through the dust that had settled onto his desk, scanning it with a critical eye. Dust meant that this place had been abandoned for months. Chances were no one had searched his office since he'd been arrested.

That meant they could still be here.

He circled his desk and gingerly pulled one of the drawers, noting the rusty scraping sound it made as it opened for the first time in weeks. The police were always lazy when it came to investigation.

Underneath a few miscellaneous files, there they were. Three more silver keys.

None of them were his.

The first, his brother's. Never used. Klavier had always been open to him visiting at any time—too often for his liking. Underneath the layers of admiration, it was obvious that Klavier was far more concerned than he'd let on.

That level of concern was dangerous. Kristoph had no doubt that if he hadn't kept Klavier at an arm's length, the man would have caught on. They were both Gavins, after all—cool, collected, and constantly scrutinizing.

The second key belonged to none other than that stupid, nervous wreck of a girl. Kristoph pressed his thumb into the edge of the key, the top half of his nail turning white. The prison guards had never neglected to mention the medical miracle Vera Misham was. The little satisfaction he would have received from learning of her death had been crushed the instant he learned she was the first person to ever survive atroquinine.

Fortunately, he had snagged one of the keys she'd tossed haphazardly on her kitchen island the day he'd gifted her the nail polish. He placed it back in the drawer. Unfinished business made it tempting to use now, but there was time to consider it later. There was still one last key.

This one hadn't been given to him or stolen by him. He placed it in his palm, recalling the exact moment it had fallen into his possession.

It had been late, almost as late as tonight. The last of his paperwork had been signed. He had leaned back and waved this very key at his young apprentice, who had just been about to stumble out the door.

"Mr. Justice. I presume you'd need this."

And Justice had stared at the key for a moment, exhaustion evident in his eyes.

"I have a spare on me, Mr. Gavin…i-if you don't mind, can I leave that one here in case I lose the other one?"

Kristoph didn't mind. And so the key had stayed.

The light above him flickered, yet the keys shone despite the dim setting. Kristoph ran his hand over all three.

It only took him an instant to choose one.

_Time for a visit._


	6. Back to Ashes

"Apollo. _Apollo._"

His name swam in his skull for only a few seconds before being absorbed by the surrounding softness and warmth. He shifted his head and buried himself deeper into the cushions, quashing his curiosity in favor of contentedness. Did it really matter who that was? Probably just part of the dream…

"Come on, kid. Time to get up…don't you have somewhere to be?"

Cool fingers dug into shoulder and tried to shake away the heat he was comfortably nestled in. Amidst the haze enveloping his spinning head, he was able to form one disgruntled thought.

_Not a dream… _

"Five…minutes." Apollo grumbled. Laughter sparked in the air above his head.

"Five minutes?" The voice repeated with a tinge of amusement, "God, you sound just like Trucy."

_Trucy?_

Apollo's eyes flew open.

Phoenix and his infamous smirk were leaning right above him, so close that the strings of the ex-attorney's hoodie brushed against Apollo's chest. Apollo jolted at the sudden proximity and promptly flew into a panic. "Mr. Wright, what the _hell_ are you—?"

Although he was awake, it seemed that his brain was not. He clapped a hand over his mouth the instant he realized how he sounded.

_Great. Just woke up and I'm already accusing._

Well, at least the sarcastic section of his mind was up and running. He stared up at Phoenix, desperately trying to come up with an apology. "I-I didn't mean it like—"

"Ah, sorry. I scared you." Phoenix interrupted, moving back without prompting. The much needed space released some of the tension in Apollo's muscles. "My fault for cornering you like that."

Apollo propped himself up on his elbows, scanning the scene in front of him. The scarlet Agency couch peeked out from underneath the gray comforter that had been draped over him. Phoenix was sitting on the couch and facing him, slick as ever—one arm thrown over the couch, while the other disappeared into that old hoodie's pocket. Unfortunately, Apollo's own pose wasn't that impressive—his legs stretched out in front of him, completely wrapped in the blanket. It was clear that he'd been lying down for a while.

"I was…asleep?" Apollo questioned, trying to recall how he'd gotten in this situation.

Luckily, Phoenix was willing to fill in the blanks. "You were pretty tired from yesterday's work."

"Yesterday?" Apollo repeated. Wait…that was right. He remember combing through ancient case files and annotating each technique he could recognize. He told himself it was for learning purposes but deep down…well, he'd hoped that the droning task would drown out whatever difficult questions were pounding against his head.

It worked too well, apparently. He'd begun drifting off somewhere into the third case, right after losing track of time. _Just one more testimony_, he'd kept promising himself, determined to go home only after he'd finished enough of the records.

_Guess I didn't go home at all_, he thought.

"You slept over." Phoenix confirmed, gesturing to the comforter. "You were pretty tired, weren't you?"

"Yeah…" Apollo admitted.

Phoenix shook his head, smile fading fast. "You didn't have to do all those notes, you know."

"I…I know." It felt stupid to say. Apollo sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling increasingly awkward. "I just thought I should—w-wait!"

Apollo's eyes widened. He pressed a hand to his forehead, stricken with anxiety.

A flicker of confusion crossed Phoenix's face. "What?"

"It's my cat." Apollo groaned. He buried his face in his hands. An incomprehensible wave of guilt crashed over him. "I didn't feed my cat!"

He could almost see Calico's huge eyes peering up at him, pleading for dinner. And here he was, kicking himself only _after_ he'd neglected her. Slept on the job, starved the cat…he was becoming a mess. His head whipped up and he searched for the clock, hoping he could at least give her breakfast…

"Hey, relax." Phoenix said. Apollo ignored him. He had just found the clock.

_It's noon. _

So no breakfast for Calico. And also…

"Shit! Klavier!"

Apollo's chest tightened. It didn't take long for his mind to fly into a frenzy. He immediately began throwing off the layers of the blanket weighing him down, desperately trying to plan his course of action. Step one: definitely getting out of here. After that…he didn't know which step was next. Call Klavier? Run home and feed the cat? Tell Klavier he couldn't come because of the cat? Or should he—

"Relax, kid."

Phoenix grabbed Apollo's wrist when part of the comforter slid to the floor, fixing him with a steady look. Apollo ran his other hand through his hair, clutching a few strands in his fist.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wright, I don't have time—" Apollo started. Phoenix reached over to the side table and slipped Apollo's phone into his hands, silencing him instantly.

"Check your messages." Phoenix urged. Apollo was already scrolling through, hastily catching up on his notifications. "I hope you don't mind, but I texted someone you saved as your neighbor to feed the cat. He was fine with it. As for Klavier…"

The message on his phone was clear. Apollo mumbled it under his breath. "I'll be there at 1, Herr Forehead…"

"Exactly. And I didn't know you loved your nickname that much, Mr. Forehead." Phoenix chuckled. The man shrugged when Apollo pinned him with an exasperated look. "_You_ said it just now."

"Alright, alright." Apollo conceded. He let go of his hair and sighed, trying not to think about how much gel he'd need to fix his bedhead. Although, come to think of it… "Um, Mr. Wright? How did I even get on the couch? I was pretty sure I was working at a desk…"

"Ah." Phoenix shoved both his hands into his pockets and looked away. "You don't remember? You must sleepwalk or something…"

It sounded like an innocent enough comment, were it not for the uncomfortable tightening sensation compressing Apollo's wrist. Phoenix's lack of eye contact was enough to reveal that the ex-attorney was lying. Even if it wasn't, Apollo could catch the minuscule movement of the man's fingers twiddling within the hoodie's pockets. Nearly hidden nervous tick, but telling nonetheless.

"I'm not a sleepwalker," Apollo pressed, "So I think I'd remember moving around."

That was all it took. Phoenix took a deep breath and adjusted his bright blue beanie, suddenly seeming much older than he actually was. "Listen, Apollo. Sleeping on the desk…it's bad for your back. I thought you'd sleep better here."

"Did you…carry me?" Apollo asked. His face burned as the sentence escaped his lips. The image of Phoenix carefully moving him onto the couch and throwing a blanket over him made him feel inexplicably embarrassed.

Phoenix leaned back and tilted his head to the ceiling, as if contemplating something beyond Apollo's grasp. "I've done it for Trucy, too. When she's _too stressed._"

"O-Oh." Apollo stammered. It wasn't difficult to read between Phoenix's lines. "Well…thank you, Mr. Wright."

Apollo's phone buzzed. He glanced down at it, expecting a text from Klavier. To his surprise, it was his neighbor.

**I fed Calico lunch just now. I'm going to leave for the airport soon, let me know if Mr. Justice needs anything else.**

Mr. Justice? He furrowed his brow. Phoenix hadn't just been impersonating him. He quickly checked the conversation, wondering exactly what Mr. Wright had said.

**Hi, this is Phoenix Wright. Your neighbor, Apollo Justice, is too exhausted to go home right now. Could you feed his cat its next few meals? I don't want to wake him up…I'm taking care of him. **

Apollo's head swirled. A swarm of conflicting emotions clashed deep in his mind as he looked back at Phoenix, trying to read the man's face.

_Why did he take care of me?_

Phoenix's calm expression betrayed nothing. Apollo could feel the question eating away his brain. For once, he was going to be direct about it. "Mr. Wright, why did you—"

Phoenix cut him off. "There's something I need to know before you go, Apollo."

Phoenix stared directly at him this time. Apollo's skin prickled. Steely eyes scanned Apollo's face, as if rifling through the younger attorney's very thoughts.

A solemn air surrounded the older man, forcing Apollo to fall silent. He'd never seen Phoenix look at him that way before.

After a few seconds of tension, Apollo ventured a few words. "Er…Mr. Wright?"

"You're hiding something dark, aren't you?"

"Wait…what?"

Phoenix's grim gaze only grew more intense in the face of Apollo's bewilderment. "Don't lie. I know you are."

Nervousness coiled in the pit of Apollo's stomach, churning alongside a sickening mix of confusion. The only thing he was sure of now was the fact that…"I'm not lying."

"Not lying, are you?" Phoenix repeated. Something about the man's tone made Apollo feel like they were crossing into dangerous territory. "Then tell me about Kristoph."

Apollo froze.

Soft smile. Kind voice.

Cunning grin. Mad laughter.

"Evil," Apollo said at last, "He's evil."

Phoenix nodded. Apollo relaxed. He didn't know where that had come from, but at least it was over now. Navigating away from risky territory—"Do you really think so?"

And just like that, something in Apollo snapped.

"Mr. Wright," Apollo started, gritting his teeth, "What exactly are you looking for?"

"Nothing," Phoenix answered, "I just wanted to be transparent with you—"

"About _what_, exactly?"

Apollo's words were clipped, but the irritation was palpable. Now it was Phoenix's turn to be surprised. "Hey, I'm not trying to accuse you of anything. Let's just talk, alright?"

"You _were_ accusing me." Apollo curled his hands into fists. The comforter felt slick between his fingers and cast a pale shade to his white knuckles. "Why?"

Phoenix hesitated for a moment.

But only a moment.

"Look, Apollo." The words were slow, deliberate. "The last person I saw with as much despair as you…well…he's just escaped prison."

It didn't matter how carefully Phoenix had crafted his sentence. Apollo could see it all.

_He doesn't trust me._

"You're afraid I'm going to become just like _him_, aren't you?"

Phoenix's frown deepened. "You know I worry about you."

Apollo shoved the covers off of himself and shot to his feet, invigorated by a wave of sheer frustration. "You _worry_ about me? In what context? That I'll hurt you or Trucy before going insane?"

Phoenix stood up as well. The ex-attorney's dark expression made it feel as though he was towering over Apollo. "Don't say things like that. Not with Trucy."

It was too late to back down. A furious fire burned through any rationality Apollo had left, leaving him ready to lash out at any semblance of opposition. "If you're so concerned about your daughter, why do you still let me around here? For all you think, maybe I've already gone crazy—"

"You haven't." Phoenix stated. The steely gaze had returned. "I wouldn't have taken care of you last night if you were."

"Oh, really?" Apollo scoffed. His voice was rising, but he didn't care. "Then what if I _do_ snap from the pressure? Would you take care of me then, Mr. Wright?"

"It depends."

The instant Phoenix said it, Apollo could see the regret wash over his face. Every second it took for Phoenix's emotions to morph from silent and serious to remorseful seemed to pass by in slow motion. It was like watching a crystalline glass tip off the edge of a surface…the delay just before it shattered, the realization that something had gone irreversibly wrong.

"Apollo." A soft, hushed tone. "I didn't—"

"You did." Apollo cut off. "Don't lie, Mr. Wright."

Phoenix gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Despite the close proximity, Apollo felt leagues away. "I really do care about you, Apollo. As much as I do for Trucy—"

"I'm not your son, Mr. Wright. Please stop treating me like I am."

The glass had shattered.

Phoenix dropped his grasp. "Alright. I'll stop."

Apollo stepped back and looked towards the clock, trying to avoid reading Phoenix's face. It was 12:20 now. Normally it would be a little early to leave, but today he would take any excuse to get out of the straightened his vest and pretended to fix his hair, all while rushing to the door.

"I have to go, Mr. Wright." He said, already slipping on his shoes. Time for him to stay focused entirely on the exit.

"Okay." Phoenix remained in the same spot. Apollo tried not to notice how hollow the man's voice sounded. "Have fu—good luck."

Without another wasted minute, Apollo twisted the doorknob and stepped outside, quickly striding down the street. He was convinced Mr. Wright would be standing by the window soon enough, watching him leave, but he didn't look back. He rubbed his wrist, thinking back to the moment Phoenix had let go of his shoulder.

His bracelet hadn't tightened.

Phoenix really meant it.

Just before he rounded the corner, he couldn't stop himself. He glanced back to the Agency, attempting to peer into one of its windows.

No sign of a bright blue beanie through the glass.

Apollo turned back towards the street and kept walking.


	7. Coffee and Cruelty

The bustling coffee shop was finally starting to settle down now that the lunchtime rush was dispersing. Apollo watched the businessmen in their stiff suits race for one last espresso before their next shift, straightening up like meerkats with every name that was called. Their hustling and haste was starting to make him feel secondhand anxiety. He huffed into his Americano and sunk deeper into the crimson armchair he'd chosen, attempting to ignore them.

It'd been nearly half an hour since he'd arrived. He spent the first five minutes finding the perfect spot—not stuck in the center, but not too isolated, either. Two scarlet armchairs nestled near the corner of the shop worked well enough. It took him another ten minutes to order his drink, wait for it, and wince as the barista butchered his name. The rest of the time? People watching.

Yeah. Just people watching.

Definitely not thinking about Phoenix.

_I'm fine. That's right_, he reassured himself, resisting the urge to curse when the ex-attorney popped up again, _It's fine. Just relax._

A creeping feeling of suffocation was slowly constricting his chest. He leaned back and loosened his tie in an effort to combat it, but to no avail. After a few more uncomfortable seconds, he slipped off both his vest and tie and unclasped the the first few buttons of his shirt, breathing deep.

_Everything's fine. Forget about him._

He took a swig of coffee and grimaced as it burnt his tongue.

_Nothing happened. I'm fine._

Besides, it was Friday. He'd have the whole weekend to himself to process things. No tension, no trust problems, and no—

_Trucy._

He couldn't believe that she'd slipped his mind. In his struggle to suppress his conversation with Phoenix, he'd shoved her to the wayside. How long would it take for her to find out what had happened? Would she ask? Would Phoenix tell her?

Or maybe Phoenix wouldn't mention it at all. There was no longer any reason for Mr. Wright to talk about him outside of work.

A hollow feeling echoed in his heart.

It had been a while since he'd felt this alone.

"Ah, _there_ you are, Herr Forehead."

Apollo jolted at the sudden voice, his gaze whipping up towards the source. He'd recognize that nickname anywhere. "Hey, Klavier."

Klavier's charming smile shone as the man ran a hand through his luscious hair, slicking back a few stray golden strands. Apollo couldn't help but stare. The rockstar's very presence exuded radiance, drawing the eyes of a few curious onlookers. Even though they'd picked this cafe to avoid attracting attention, some of the businessmen were glancing over, eyeing Klavier inquisitively. Apollo wouldn't be surprised if they could sense riches.

Still, it wasn't the brilliance or bank account that had captured Apollo's interest.

_He looks…different._

It was strange to see Klavier wearing streetwear. The rockstar's sangria blazer had been replaced by a slick leather jacket. The classic silver chain still shone its ostentatious "G" symbol, but its glamour was offset by the simple wine-colored shirt it rested on. To top it off, a pair of reflective sunglasses perched effortlessly on top of Klavier's head, remaining perfectly still even when the man slid into the armchair across Apollo.

"I called your phone when I came in, Forehead. And the Fraulein who took my order even yelled my name," Klavier said, cradling his coffee cup and casting him bemused look, "Have your 'Chords of Steel' made you deaf?"

"Wait, really?" Apollo whipped out his phone to find two missed calls and a text glaring up at him. "Oh man, Klavier, I'm so sorry—"

"Keine Sorge. No worries." Klavier interrupted. Before Apollo could say anything further, the man gestured to him. "So this is your best outfit. I must confess, it has a certain…_Italian_ charm to it."

Apollo glanced down at himself, overcome by an instant surge of embarrassment when he caught his partially exposed chest and reckless dressing sense. That was right…Klavier had told him to wear something decent. Yet here he was, clad in just an unbuttoned shirt and rumpled suit pants from sleeping on the couch.

"No, no, this isn't it," Apollo began, "I'm sorry Klavier, I overslept and—"

In the middle of his sentence, Klavier remove his sunglasses and leaned in closer, stringing them on Apollo's shirt. Apollo only stared in utter confusion.

"There. Perfekt," Klavier said, putting a hand to his chin and scrutinizing Apollo from top to bottom, "Now you are a true Italian. And your new hair, too…gut aussehend."

"My…new hair?" Apollo felt the top his head. The strands slipped easily through his fingers. Sleeping at the Agency meant no gel for today—he could only imagine how unkempt he looked. "It's not a new thing, I swear…I just didn't get to fix it today."

Klavier laughed. "Fashion natural, Forehead?" A dozen protests sprung to Apollo's tongue, only to be drowned out by Klavier closing his eyes and humming contentedly. "Just wait. We'll see who's more stylish once my hair is cut."

Apollo rubbed his wrist out of instinct, but didn't feel any sensation. That was strange. Usually sarcasm triggered the bracelet as well. He furrowed his brow, unable to suppress his perplexity. "There's no way you're really cutting your hair."

Klavier only shrugged and took a few sips of his iced caramel. Apollo tried to imagine what the rockstar would look like without his long locks twisted on the side of his head. It was too hard.

_Something's off._

"Why all of a sudden?" Apollo probed, trying not to sound obvious. "You've kept it for so long…"

Klavier smiled again, but somehow managed to look far more solemn than Apollo had ever seen him. "Life is change, Herr Justice. And me? I've been stuck in the past." Klavier let out an empty laugh. "This is mein Bruder's style, after all. He can keep it now."

Apollo fell silent. There was no real response to that sort of thing.

Even he remembered noting the Gavin brothers' similarities when he first saw Klavier. Same hair, same smile…if Klavier hadn't been so ridiculously over the top and had dressed just a little more professionally, Apollo wouldn't have been able to face him at all.

Klavier snapped his fingers, breaking Apollo's train of thought. "Achtung! That's why we're here, isn't it?"

"Ah…yes." Apollo rubbed the back of his neck, trying to compose himself. "So…er, Klavier…h-how are you?"

_Well, that was pathetic._

"Danke for asking, Herr Forehead." Klavier responded, oblivious to Apollo's abrupt urge to vanish on the spot. "Although…I'm not sure where to begin." The prosecutor raised a hand to his chin. "Perhaps we can start it off like a case?"

"If that helps, it's fine with me." Apollo said. Klavier nodded.

"Let's see, then…" The rockstar draped an arm over the back of his chair, his gaze growing steely. "Three nights ago…mein Bruder escaped from prison. So I was told by the police." Klavier couldn't fully conceal his pained tone. Apollo considered intervening, but ultimately decided to just listen. "Ever since then they've stationed guards at my house. They think he will come for me. We are all waiting." Klavier hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees. "But I know he will not come."

"What makes you so sure?" Apollo asked. He was surprised that Klavier wasn't taking this seriously. "You know he's—"

"I visited him in prison a few times." Klavier said, looking straight at Apollo. For some reason, Apollo couldn't break his gaze. "Would you like to know everything he's told me?"

Apollo's voice softened. "Klavier…"

Klavier shook his head. "The things he's said…I should have told you sooner."

The two men took deep breaths—one finding the words for the situation, the other bracing himself to hear them. They looked away and tried to delay it by drinking the rest of their coffee, but even that ran out faster than expected. Apollo watched Klavier brush back his golden hair and draw two fingers to his temple.

"Gottverdammt," Klavier cursed under his breath. Apollo raised his eyebrows. He'd never actually heard Klavier curse before…or seen him this wound up.

"What is it?" Apollo said. He met Klavier's gaze again.

The instant he did, he realized it was going to be worse than he thought.

"Kristoph has a list," Klavier stated, "He told me himself. Each person on the list has a…special punishment."

"What does that mean?" Apollo persisted. "And no offense, Klavier, but he's kind of crazy, so I would expect—"

"Sweet Fraulein Vera…" Klavier's voice trailed off for a moment, his tense expression contorting into disgust. "He'd force her to drink nail polish remover."

A vile taste built up in the back of Apollo's throat. The very image of that made him feel like _he_ was the one reeling from acetone fumes, dizzy and disoriented. "No. That's…no."

Klavier ignored his blatant denial. "He told me much about Herr Wright, as well. And Fraulein Trucy." The prosecutor paused for an instant before continuing. "And…me."

"He must have something for me too, then." Apollo said, trying to fight the sickening sensation building up in his gut.

Klavier crossed his hands together so tightly that the whites of his knuckles jutted out. "Yes. Just the same as everyone."

Apollo's bracelet tightened.

His eyes scanned Klavier before he could stop himself. Twitching eyebrow. Shaking hands. Tapping foot. He tried in vain to persuade himself to drop it, but it had become almost like a reflex. Even the words flew out of his mouth without further consideration. "You're lying."

Klavier only tilted his head at his accusation. "What a piercing stare, Forehead."

"Ah…sorry, Klavier," Apollo said, scratching the back of his head, "I just noticed—"

"No, Justice. You're right."

Klavier sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for an instant. Whatever anxiety had been steadily building deep in Apollo's brain exploded into a mess of panic at the sight of the stressed prosecutor.

_Why did he lie? Is it that bad? _

Unbidden images were conjured up from the depths of his mind, each offering a new idea of what exactly Kristoph had planned for him. Poison? No, too basic…Klavier had said that they were _special_ punishments. Skinned alive? Sliced into pieces and scattered into Mr. Wright's grape juice? Crushed in a tampered prop during Trucy's magic show?

"Klavier. Just tell me." Apollo managed to spit out. His stomach churned as he imagined every gruesome scenario that popped into his head. "Whatever it is, I need to know. Tell me everything."

Klavier took a deep breath. Apollo held his.

Finally, Klavier spoke.

"Herr Wright had asked me to speak to you." Interjection after interjection teetered on the tip of Apollo's tongue. He held them back with fierce resolve. It was upsetting to hear Mr. Wright orchestrating things behind his back again, but Klavier would never speak up if he interrupted now. "He…_we_…know how close you were to mein Bruder. And Kristoph…he was fond of you." Klavier reached over and squeezed Apollo's hand. The comforting gesture only drove Apollo up the wall with unease. "When I spoke to Kristoph, he told me you were not on the list."

Apollo drew his hand away from Klavier and rubbed his arms, trying and failing to calm himself down. "That's good, right? What's wrong with that?"

Klavier frowned.

"Kristoph, he…he wanted to keep you alive. Just enough…to endure every punishment."

_That's it._

"I'm so sorry, Klavier." Apollo said, rising to his feet. Klavier looked up at him, bewildered by the sudden motion.

"Herr Justice…what are you—?" Klavier began. Apollo swept up his vest and looped his tie around his wrist in a matter of seconds.

"I can't. I can't think about it." Apollo responded. His heart beat against his chest with such force that he felt as though it was hoping to escape without him. "I'm sorry."

Klavier stood up as well, leaning over him. The prosecutor's tense expression had morphed into an apologetic one, his silky voice now subdued. "Please, Herr Justice. I didn't mean to frighten you—"

"I'm _not_ scared." Apollo objected vehemently. He tried to stride past Klavier, but Klavier easily sidestepped and blocked his way. "I said I'm sorry, Klavier. But I really should go."

"Apollo…please." Klavier had finally said his first name. Apollo paused, unable to process it. "I only meant to warn you in case the worst happened. Herr Wright told me they are not stationing police at your place…when I spoke to him, he was sick from worry—"

Apollo couldn't take it anymore.

"Klavier. Move."

Dozens of different emotions danced on Klavier's face.

Eventually, the prosecutor stepped aside.

"We should not end like this, Justice." Klavier whispered, "He was my family as well."

Apollo flinched when Klavier grasped his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. "Kristoph was _never_ my family."

"Apollo…"

His real name wasn't going to make him hesitate this time. Apollo jerked his sleeve out of Klavier's grip and weaved past the rest of the coffee tables.

_I have to get out of here. _

"Herr Justice, wait!"

_I need to go home._

"Ach, Sheiße…_Herr Justice!_"

He made the mistake of glancing back. Klavier was speed walking towards him, hand outstretched, ready to grab his shoulder and force him to stop. He was already at the door.

He turned the knob and immediately began sprinting down the street.

"Apollo!"

Klavier's voice was growing more distant with each panting breath he took. He refused to turn around. The only pair of footsteps he heard on the pavement were his own.

_Go home. Go home. Go home. _

Screw being calm. He rounded the corner and ran down his street, finally catching sight of his apartment building. He wanted to see Calico. He wanted to be alone.

_He wanted to forget._

He slammed the door open, hoping he didn't disturb any of the first floor tenants, and quickly climbed up two flights of chipped stairs to reach his floor. His hands were trembling so violently that he managed to drop his keys twice once he reached his door.

He leaned against the wall and gasped, breathless from overexertion. Running over two blocks and half a building had not been kind to his lungs. With his last bit of energy, he twisted the key in the lock and flung open the door.

"Calico!"

No response. That was strange…she usually mewed in response. Maybe she was sulking today.

"Come on, Calico…"

He stepped into the next room. Calico was there.

Resting right in the arms of a slender man in a lavender suit.

"Welcome home, Justice."


	8. Ruthless Reunion

It didn't take long for the vertigo to strike.

His head swam as he absorbed the scene in front of him.

_It's him._

Every second he spent trying to make sense of it only paralyzed him further.

_It's really him. _

He fell backwards, overwhelmed.

Kristoph Gavin was currently in his living room. Kristoph Gavin was resting comfortably in his armchair, Calico curled up in his lap. _Kristoph Gavin_ was gently scratching her behind the ears as she purred softly, completely unaware of exactly who she was being pet by.

He used to think super-villains only existed in movies.

_Not real. Please don't be real._

The thought flew into his mind from a place of pure panic, but he took a moment to consider it. There was no way the real Kristoph Gavin could be in his apartment right now, stroking his cat like something out of a discount Bond film. The odds of that actually happening had to be slim to none. He remained frozen on the ground, muscles tensed and body trembling as he forced himself to examine every inch of the apparition.

_I'm hallucinating._

That was it. That _had_ to be it. Kristoph was smiling down at him with that same calm, collected expression that had comforted him so many times in court. He was wearing the same old lavender suit. The same flashing glasses. There was no trace of "escaped convict" anywhere on him—no prison garb, no handcuffs, nothing.

Besides, this whole week had been stressful. The argument with Phoenix had been eating the back of his brain ever since he'd walked out of the Agency, and running away from Klavier was just an explosion of all of his built up anxiety. He wouldn't be surprised if this was a nervous breakdown. He clenched his loose, gel-free hair with one hand, feeling the tie wrapped around his wrist brush against his face. He could feel his fingers shaking even as he tried to reason with himself, his breathing growing shallow.

_Not real. Not real. I'm a mess._

"Well, Justice?"

Soft, smooth tone. A chill creeped up Apollo's back, terror coursing through his system like needles through a sponge.

Every nightmare he'd had, come to life.

"Not real," he murmured, still grasping his hair. His skull was starting to hurt. "This isn't real."

He'd thought that saying it aloud would help. It didn't.

Kristoph rose to his feet, cradling Calico in his arms, and strode towards him. Apollo flinched at every step the man took. The hallucination towered over him, pushing up its specs with a delicate finger, the light from the ceiling reflecting on the spotless lenses.

"Of course this isn't real," Kristoph said, "You're simply suffering from psychosis, aren't you?"

_Psy…chosis?_

So he _was_ having a mental breakdown. Strangely, that was a comforting thought. His hand slipped from his head and onto his heart as relief washed over him, an uncomfortable sensation on his wrist…

His bracelet.

He stared down at it, a horrified feeling settling in the pit of its stomach as he observed its golden gleam. It was definitely tightening.

_A lie. _

Kristoph beamed cheerily, drawing back one slim leg.

"Keep dreaming."

CR * CR * CR * CR * CR * CR

The first thing Apollo felt was a sharp, shooting pain permeating through his chin.

He groaned, instinctively trying to raise a hand to the area. He couldn't.

The second thing he felt was his arms twisted unnaturally behind his back, held together at the wrists by two cold loops of metal.

He opened his eyes.

The last thing he felt was fear.

Kristoph Gavin paced in front of him, staring. Arms crossed in that confident stance. Smile widening once Apollo met his gaze. Peaceful as his past self, yet more petrifying than ever before.

Apollo frantically glanced around the room, trying to situate himself. _He_ was the one sitting on the armchair now. Calico was nowhere to be seen—he prayed she'd just gotten scared and run off. Besides his arms being tied, his feet were also strapped tightly together by what he recognized as his scarlet tie. The papers on the coffee table had been scattered all over the floor, and his stomach dropped as he noticed that a gleaming silver kitchen knife and a single porcelain teacup had taken their place. The knife's reflection revealed the TV atop the fireplace silently displaying the news. Apollo looked up to see a picture of Central Prison glaring on the screen, with the words "3 days" laid over the image in blocky white text.

_He's real. _

"Thank you for staying knocked out longer than usual, Justice," Kristoph began, his silky voice not betraying the fact that he was _actually in Apollo's living room right this instant_, "Most people wake up within ten seconds. You, on the other hand, gave me fifteen. How generous of you."

Apollo grimaced, still feeling the effects of the brutal kick Kristoph had delivered to his face. It felt like someone was tapping against his jaw with a chisel, hoping to chip off part of his mandible.

Kristoph gestured to him and the TV. "No need to wonder about it, Justice—it was simple. Thank the careless guard I stole from months ago for your handcuffs. And I'm sure you're well aware how the media enjoys rehashing old news." Kristoph took a few steps closer to where he sat, looking at him pointedly. "I understand you're shocked, but I've been waiting for you to speak."

"How…_why_…" Apollo whispered. Numbness was spreading through his brain. He still felt inclined to believe this was an elaborate delusion.

"I believe I have answered the how." Kristoph responded, sounding almost…_merry_. "As for the why—"

"Calico. Where is she?" Apollo interrupted. He couldn't deny it any longer. Rage began to boil in his gut, growing more fierce with each instant reality was reinforced.

"I presume you mean the cat," Kristoph sighed, shaking his head. Apollo gritted his teeth. "I had always imagined you as…a 'dog person.'" Kristoph held fake quotations up with the expression, refusing to accept the colloquialism. "Loud, impulsive…although, to your credit, I wouldn't describe you as forever loyal—"

"Where is the cat, Gavin." Apollo repeated. His voice fell flat. "That's all I care about right now."

Kristoph paused for an instant, his gaze turning sharp. "Quite inconsiderate of you, Mr. Justice."

Apollo only glared back. "Where is—"

"She ran off the instant I disciplined you. Under your bed, if I observed her properly." Kristoph said. "I only closed the bedroom door to keep her in. For later."

"Later? What do you—" Apollo began, but Kristoph raised a hand.

"Enough about that _mindless_ creature." Kristoph hissed. He draped a hand over his face and grinned. "I expected you to be more interested in seeing your former mentor."

"I'd be more interested in _not_ seeing you." Apollo snapped, resentment burning fiercely through his core. "I'm pretty sure Mr. Wright feels the same. And Klavier. And the _police_."

Kristoph only tsked at him. "You've grown quite ill-mannered in my absence." The man leaned closer to Apollo, raising a hand. "Of course, that will change."

"You're going to get caught," Apollo said, inching his face away as Kristoph reached towards him. The closer Kristoph's fingers came to his skin, the faster his voice got. "Everyone knows who you are, it's obvious it's you, Mr. Wright will—_get away from me!_"

"Relax, Justice." Kristoph purred. Apollo flinched when the murderer ran a hand through his hair. "I always hated how much gel you put on. You look much better naturally."

Apollo's spine crawled. He jerked his head away from Kristoph's touch, a foul taste settling in his mouth.

"The police are looking for you. Mr. Wright will look for me, too," Apollo pressed through clenched teeth, "He'll know you're here. They'll find you."

"Hmmm." Kristoph hummed. The man crossed his arms and tapped his chin. "It truly _has_ been a while, hasn't it? Since you've worked for me."

Apollo didn't back down. "You _know_ they'll—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Kristoph's hand whipped forward and grasped his hair. Apollo bit his tongue as his scalp strained. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as biting pain shot through the top of his head.

"Let me remind you, then," Kristoph snarled, "I'm. Not. An. Idiot." He yanked harder, forcing Apollo to face him. "They _will_ find me. I have no doubt about that. My plan was never escape."

Fury flashed in Kristoph's gaze. His dead eyes, once cold and uncaring, seethed with hatred.

"You shouldn't be concerned with them finding me. I, myself, am more curious as to what I'll do to you in the time I have."

Kristoph let go and resumed his poised stance. The innocent smile returned.

Apollo paled.

"Fuck…" he whispered under his breath. Amidst the terror and despair, one thought shot clear through his brain.

_He's going to kill me. _

"Let's start small, shall we?" Kristoph said. The murderer turned towards the coffee table, hand hovering over the knife. He looked back at Apollo and grinned. "It's satisfying to see you squirm, Justice. You're lucky I'm not that messy." Kristoph pushed the knife to the side and curled his fingers around the teacup's handle. He lifted the delicate China with ease and took a small sip, seeming to delight in its taste. Then, he moved it to Apollo's mouth. "Drink."

Apollo pressed his lips into a thin line. His heart pounded in his ears as the teacup remained near him. An image of himself convulsing in the armchair flashed through his mind when he thought of consuming the poison.

He shuddered. Kristoph loved his parallels, and Apollo didn't doubt that he'd relish in simulating execution by electric chair. Maybe this was going to be his "special punishment".

"You saw me drink it, boy." Kristoph growled. To prove his point, the murderer took another sip. "I'm kind enough to tell you that it won't kill you, but you still don't have a choice. Drink it now."

Apollo's bracelet didn't react. So Kristoph was being honest…he wouldn't die outright. It was of little comfort, however, since Apollo could imagine a thousand painful scenarios that didn't have to end with a grave.

"It's poison." Apollo stated.

"It's tea. And it won't physically hurt you."

Apollo's wrist remained still. Whatever torture Kristoph wanted to start off with didn't involve direct pain, it seemed. He reluctantly swallowed the rest of the tea, swishing it around in his mouth in an attempt to detect any suspicious flavors. It tasted just like lavender.

"Very good." Kristoph praised. Apollo cringed. Every time he had heard those two words at Gavin and co. offices, it would make the rest of his day. Now, he only felt disgusted.

Kristoph leaned on the coffee table, a few of his fingers barely touching the handle of the knife.

"Let's talk, Justice."

Apollo seethed at Kristoph's smug expression, but didn't say a word. His stomach churned at the very idea of giving the murderer the satisfaction.

Kristoph seemed disappointed.

"Come, Justice. Surely we can talk." Kristoph urged, as if chiding a rebellious teen. "I've worked very hard to see you."

Apollo bit his tongue.

"No?" Kristoph said.

Apollo refused to respond.

Kristoph tilted his head and smiled brightly.

"You little worm."

The slap stung Apollo's face and further bruised his jaw before he could even process that Kristoph had strode over to deliver it. The sharp sound that resonated through the room accompanied the sudden metallic taste oozing over his tongue. Tears slid down his cheeks as he failed to suppress the burst of pain from his chin, the inside of his cheek swelling.

Kristoph grabbed him under his arms and dragged him off of the armchair.

"If you don't wish to have a _proper_ conversation, then you will listen." Kristoph spat. Apollo attempted to struggle as Kristoph hauled him across the floor, but to no avail. His face was hurting so much from the recent abuse that almost all his energy was devoted to holding back sobs from the soreness. "We will begin by disciplining you. You have grown foolish and unruly, Justice." Kristoph yanked open his bedroom door. Apollo twisted his body just enough to find that the blinds were all closed, leaving his room gray and colorless. "I will _not_ tolerate this behavior."

"Don't fucking touch me!" Apollo shouted, wincing as his voice cracked. Kristoph pulled him inside, struggling to keep his grip as Apollo thrashed more vigorously.

"Stay _still_, you insolent—ACH!"

Apollo had somehow managed to turn his head in just the right position. He bit down on Kristoph's arm, the murderer's blood flowing over his tongue. He nearly gagged at the taste, but forced himself to sink his teeth further into Kristoph's flesh.

_I can't let him kill me!_

"VILE LITTLE _LEECH!_"

Kristoph roared and wrenched his arm away, nearly taking Apollo's jaw along with it. The murderer pressed his other hand to his wounded arm, trying to stop the bleeding. Apollo writhed on his stomach, moving a few centimeters every second. He had to get out of here somehow. If he could just—

Something bright pink looped over his head and went straight into his mouth. He choked as it pressed against the edges of his lips and pushed against his tongue. He fell to the floor and immediately felt a heavy weight crush his back, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

Apollo tossed his head and saw Kristoph's knee driving into his spine, immobilizing him. The murder's hands were fidgeting at the back of Apollo's head, deftly tying the piece of cloth that had gotten stuck in Apollo's mouth.

"A muzzle…fit for a dog." Kristoph gasped. Apollo felt the pressure disappear off his back as Kristoph once again grasped him under his arms. The murderer pulled him in front of his tiny walk-in closet and threw open the door, revealing a dark, musty interior full of polished leather shoes and identical red vests, white shirts, and pressed pants.

Kristoph shoved Apollo in there before he could fight any further. Apollo twisted his body to look back at Kristoph, who was missing his ribbon tie and whose hand was gripping side of the door.

Apollo's eyes widened.

_No. Don't do this. Don't lock me in here!_

Apollo shook his head, attempting to wriggle back out. Kristoph heaved, seeming both exhausted and furious with the ordeal.

"Perhaps you will be more…agreeable…following some well-deserved reflection."

_No, no, NO!_

Kristoph slammed the door.

And Apollo was blinded by total, unrelenting darkness.


	9. Trip to the Devil

_Calm down. Come on. Calm._

It wasn't working. This was the fifth time he'd tried to clear his thoughts enough to come up with a plan, but his brain kept flying into overdrive faster than he could think of ideas. Terror and trepidation swirled into a sickening mess in his mind. He could still feel himself trembling.

_Calm down, damn it! _

Well, that certainly wouldn't help. He squeezed his eyes shut. How did he even _get_ here?

Everything had happened so quickly that if it weren't for his aching face, he would've convinced himself it was a nightmare. Not to mention the lingering taste of iron tainting his tongue.

He couldn't even spit it out, either. Kristoph had apparently become an expert at tying gags from his time in prison. Or had he always been an expert? Apollo couldn't tell. Either way, that was the least of his concerns.

_Should've bitten harder. Fuck. _

Why hadn't he? So what if Kristoph had broken his jaw? He should've ripped part of that murderer's arm clean off, so that the man wouldn't even _think_ of touching him again—

_What? No! Don't even go there. _

The gruesome image he'd conjured up spiked disgust deep in his gut, but not as much as the realization that it also gave him a good bit of satisfaction. God, what was happening to him? Was he becoming a monster just by breathing the same air as one? Or…

_Wasn't Mr. Wright afraid of this? _

Phoenix had known. The ex-attorney had asked him if he was hiding something dark, and this was it. His throat closed at the thought of the Phoenix glaring down at him, seeing straight through his self-righteous facade. If Phoenix knew all the exceedingly violent scenarios he was fantasizing about Kristoph, they'd definitely be having a much more heated discussion.

Well, he'd take an argument over being bound and muzzled in a closet any day.

He opened his eyes. They'd adapted to the dark somewhat, making it a bit more bearable. Now that he could see the faint silhouettes of his leather shoes pressing against his legs and the shadows of the draped clothes brushing against his head above him, he felt less claustrophobic.

If only he'd known he was being tortured today…chances are he would've tidied up better. Oh, well…on the bright side, at least his dry sense of humor was still up and running.

Panic pressed against his chest again. He still hadn't thought of anything. And Kristoph was still out there, plotting something or the other.

_Shit. Don't freak out. Come on! _

Freaking out had already begun. His brain spun wildly with exaggerated rehashes of Kristoph's abuse towards him and his own visions of brutality, longing to be released. Complete with Phoenix's disappointed gaze.

He tried to remember Phoenix's voice. Deep, clear, confident. Sometimes husky, if on the phone with Prosecutor Edgeworth.

But towards him, it was mostly soft. Gentle.

_Calm down, kid._

It worked.

He glanced around, ignoring the frenzy flailing about in the back of his brain. Step one was getting out of this closet, at the very least. He slammed the door with his shoulder, but it didn't budge.

He tried that a few more times, only to yield the same result. Brute force wasn't going to be an option.

Next approach: unbinding himself. His arms were handcuffed, probably impossible to free, but his feet were only held together by a simple tie. He tried prying his ankles apart, pointing his toes towards different directions.

The tie loosened.

Bless himself for buying silk ties. He didn't know how long he spent just fidgeting his feet, but the slippery cloth was steadily becoming undone. By the time he was exhausted of shifting around in one direction, the tie hung loosely around his ankles. Perfect.

Now came the question of opening the actual door. He kicked it a few times to no avail...this closet door was strangely very sturdy. After that came a barrage of ideas to test, growing more and more ridiculous as his desperation grew. It had started off logically enough—instead of trying to kick the center of the door, he kicked near the door handle. That morphed into him curling the arches of his feet around the handle and attempting to twist it open. When _that_ didn't work, he tried with his toes...only to find that they weren't dexterous enough to even latch around the handle. By the end he was fumbling to slip on a loose shoe so he could kick the door again with the added heel, until he was so frustrated that he tried to bite down on a shoe past his gag to just chuck at the barrier.

Nothing was working. The increasing pointlessness of it all seemed to be giving him a headache.

He took a few minutes to breathe, only to end up coughing for most of them. His mouth was so dry that he could feel his tongue scrape against the roof of his mouth. Weird...and he hadn't even gone through with biting that shoe.

Maybe he was just too exhausted. He slid to the ground and laid still on his side for a while, opting to give his body a rest rather than try again. What was the use if he wasn't at full strength? He closed his eyes...

...and after an eternity, something scratched the outside of his door.

He blinked a few times. The sound was soft, yet persistent.

There was only one other person in his house right now.

He shot up as soon as the realization hit, eyes wide open.

_It's him it's him it's him_—

The scratching stopped.

Then...a quiet mew.

_Wait...Calico!_

He called her name. "Caa-we-coh."

Right..still gagged. He was practically mute. He leaned his head against the door, hearing her drag her claws along the wood outside.

Hmm...could cats hear thoughts? Maybe if he just thought really, _really _hard, a signal beam would light up in his brain and zap straight into hers. Cat control. He chuckled, muffled by the gag. That was definitely a funny concept.

Almost _too _funny. All he could think about now was cat control. He began laughing uncontrollably at the idea of a telepathic Calico scratching Kristoph right in the nose, knocking off the man's stupid glasses. He hoped she'd actually do it now that he'd thought about it.

How long had he been here, anyway? It was way, _way _too hot in this closet. He moved to take off his shirt, but his wrists strained. Ah, crap...his hands were still bound. He should've installed an A/C unit in here to keep himself from boiling alive.

Oh, wait...he didn't know he was going to be kidnapped. Stupid thought. _Hilariously _stupid. His head swam when he imagined mind-controlling Calico to balance a giant A/C unit in her paws.

_...what was I supposed to be doing?_

He furrowed his brow, trying to recall his train of thought. He'd had a general direction before this, hadn't he? Before the brilliance of cat control.

Why was it getting so hard to stop thinking in circles?

Calico resumed scratching and let out another mew. She was certainly worried about him, it seemed. Or maybe cat control was working? Either way, her soft keening made him feel relieved. At least Kristoph hadn't lied about her running away.

"Caa-we-coh. Aa oo urt?"

Gagged. He kept forgetting he was gagged. Weirdly, that didn't seem like such a hard thing to forget.

_Calicooooo, are you hurt? Come here, my little bean._

Calico mewed. So she _was _telepathic! He laughed, relieved that she could understand exactly what he was saying. Imagine if someone else knew the types of nicknames he called her at home...unless...

His eyes widened. Kristoph couldn't be telepathic too, could he?

Oh no. Now that he'd just thought that, Kristoph probably _knew _that he knew about the whole telepathy thing. The murderer was probably relaxing in the living room, scanning through his entire brain!

_Get out of my head, old man!_

Hopefully that'd be enough to scare the criminal away. Although Apollo's embarrassing habit of using cat nicknames was out in the open now. Maybe Kristoph would kill him through humiliation? That _did _sound special.

His stomach twisted. Suddenly, it felt like he was swaying on a ship on a storm-ridden sea, ready to hurl last night's salmon feast back into the murky depths they were rocking on. He'd be the captain of the ship, of course. Or would that be Mr. Wright? Yeah, Mr. Wright was more of a captain. He'd be better as a first mate. Trucy could be the crow's nest guy—

He stared down at himself. Strange. He thought he'd stop shivering by now, but it had only gotten worse.

Maybe because of all the spiders crawling on his legs.

He could see them scuttling up his pants...no, _feel _them. Their beady little backs gleamed in the moonlight (was it moonlight?) and their legs were impossibly long. They only flitted into view in the corners of his eyes, but even then he could tell that they were almost half a finger in length each, with eight squirming legs. No, some had ten legs! Twelve? He couldn't tell. His heart raced, begging for escape from his wretched body.

Their little hairs were digging into his skin. Hundreds of them. There had to be _hundreds _of them. He gasped, realizing that the flood of arachnids consuming his closet was bound to drown him soon. Was that _their_ fangs dragging over his ankles? And was that ringing in his ears because they were crawling into his head, eating away his eardrums?

He wanted to scream.

"Kii-oph!"

Gag.

_Kristoph!_

No response. He slammed his shoulder against the door once more, feeling the spiders swarming over the back of his neck. They were getting bigger. The ringing was getting louder. He kicked his legs to shake them off, but they had well and truly latched on.

It was only a matter of time before they feasted on him.

_PHOENIX!_

The closet door opened. The spiders spilled out.

Kristoph's cold shadow loomed over his arachnid infested figure.

"Quite a ruckus, Justice. To think that only a few hours was enough."

Apollo pressed his feet into the ground and began worming his way out of the closet, right towards the shadow's feet. Or was it a blob? It was hard to tell. It was certainly _turning _into a blob from where he was floating.

His eyes hurt. He slammed his face into the ground, tried to knock himself out. No use. He didn't want to be awake anymore.

Hell, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be _alive _anymore.

While he was wallowing on his stomach, a giant crab crawled into his hair and tickled the back of his head. He cringed, feeling oddly sensitive about something brushing over his scalp. Was it even a crab? Could it be a mutant spider? No...its spindly legs were tugging too hard for it to be a spider.

Whatever it was, it seemed to have snipped away the ribbon. Something bright pink slipped straight of his mouth, and his teeth finally gnashed back together.

"Bugs...everywhere..." Apollo gasped, his breath catching in his throat.

No more gag.

The sinister blob knelt down beside him, voice chiming like bells. "Interesting. I didn't expect it to be this effective."

He couldn't stand to stare at the rug any longer. It was swirling too much.

He looked up. The shadows morphed and ate up half of Kristoph's face.

Kristoph was a demon.

"I can help you," the demon said, "Let me help you."

"No, no…" Apollo mumbled. Something darted in the corner of his eye. He could've sworn it was a scorpion.

"Come now. You wouldn't want the bugs to have you, would you?"

Demons were _very_ convincing. Apollo bit his tongue and shook his head, unsure of where to look. His eyes were burning now.

"Phoenix..." he said at last, "Call..."

"Call Wright? But of course." The shadow devil waved his phone in front of his face at warp speed. Apollo squinted, trying to catch the time. The numbers kept going up. Was this one of Trucy's magic tricks? "Your code."

"37…9…4." Apollo answered with difficulty. His limbs had turned to lava. He was going to melt here. "Sorry...Mr. Wright..."

"You're sorry?" The demon remarked, a tinge of amusement corrupting his tone, "Even like this, you never cease to be overly apologetic. I suppose you haven't truly changed."

Apollo strained to stare at the devil. Was _that _Mr. Wright? Had Mr. Wright been here all along, just waiting for him to express his real emotions?

"Changed...I've changed..." Apollo groveled, trying to catch a glimpse of Phoenix's kind eyes, "Please...no more fighting..."

"Elaborate."

Apollo took a shaky breath, succumbing to the demon's command.

"Need to...to trust each other..." The demon leaned closer, scrutinizing his every word. "Promise I'll come back...one more chance..." It was getting harder to speak. Apollo's throat was closing up. "Don't ignore me...please..."

"How fortunate that you would quarrel with Wright just before our reunion." The demon's sharp voice was fading. Apollo's eyes slipped shut. "Thank you for your..._honesty, _Mr. Justice."

_Is this dying?_

Even if it was, he wouldn't know. The world behind his eyelids warped into emptiness.

He remembered nothing else.


	10. A Simple Game

The next time Apollo woke up, he was lying on the floor of the living room, unbound.

Breathing came slowly, along with everything else. The loose strands of hair falling into his eyes. The dried saliva streaking down the corner of his mouth. The side of his face, cheek pressed against the chilled hardwood. He forced himself to focus on the rest of his body, disgust swirling in his slowly awakening brain.

He twisted his aching wrists. The cold texture of the handcuffs was no longer scraping against his skin.

Kristoph had set him free.

Or so he thought. It took every ounce of his remaining strength to drag himself a single centimeter across the floor. His muscles were weighed down with molten lead, heavy arms refusing to take shape and move. Even his lungs felt alight with embers.

The soft crackling of the fireplace and faint smell of smoke snaking through the room didn't help.

"Welcome back."

Apollo craned his head to find Kristoph perched comfortably on the armchair, fingers twisting around a cerulean tie.

_His_ cerulean tie.

His heart swelled so fully with fury that it felt like his chest was going to implode.

"_You_—"

"Now, now. Perhaps remaining _respectful_ would be in your best interest this time, Justice." Kristoph said, his serene expression betraying nothing.

Apollo gritted his teeth, preparing to retort, but a sharp pain spread along the back of his head before he could think of a seething response. He groaned, twisting to the side and resting his face on the floor once more. It felt as though his body had been stretched into spaghetti and shoved back together into a dense heap, refusing to re-solidify.

His eyes flicked back up to see the vermillion glow of the fire dancing in Kristoph's cold gaze. The boiling rage building up in his system was smothered in an instant.

_Terrifying._

"Did you enjoy your trip?" Kristoph asked. At Apollo's evident confusion, the criminal simply smirked and shook his head. "Of course, I wouldn't refer to it in terms of a journey."

Apollo furrowed his brow, trying to dissect that statement. Trip? Had they gone somewhere?

Maybe Kristoph had tried to drown him. That would explain the tired limbs…but it wouldn't explain the suffocating heat. He combed through what little memory he had before this, hoping to piece together an explanation.

Something about Calico. Blobs and swirling surfaces. Dozens of spiders.

An unpleasant chill dug into his bones and froze his blood still. He shuddered violently, suddenly assailed by the image of swarming insects crawling all over his body.

Kristoph kept smiling.

"What…did you _do?_" Apollo croaked. His mouth was extraordinarily dry.

"Quite shocking that you haven't guessed by now." Kristoph replied, raising his eyebrows, "I had always assumed you were the more adventurous type in university. Perhaps I was mistaken."

Nothing was making sense. Where did the topic of university even _come_ from, anyway? All he used to do back then was study until his eyes bled and get dragged to parties by Clay. He'd stand in some obscure corner and hold an empty Solo cup while everyone else drank themselves to death and did copious amounts of—

Apollo finally understood.

"Drugs…"

The bizarre trains of thought, colliding into each other and wrecking the rest of his mind. The inexplicable giddiness in the face of mind-bending realities. The vicious heap of arachnids that never once bit him or obscured his vision entirely, despite appearing so vivid…

It explained it all.

_The tea…_

Mania, nausea, hallucinations. All classic symptoms. All trapped in the tea that Kristoph had forced him to drink. Apollo dug his fingers into the floor, feeling the frigid hardwood grind underneath his nails. Kristoph hadn't lied…it didn't kill him, and it hadn't _physically_ hurt him.

No, all it had done was drain his body so that he was paralyzed from sheer exhaustion. And made a mess of his mind.

He cast a withering glare towards Kristoph. Even without knowing that he had a lie detecting bracelet on hand, the murderer had weaved his words carefully enough that Apollo couldn't sense anything.

"Yes. Well done." Kristoph praised, holding Apollo's tie taut between his hands. Its silken texture, once soft and pressed, had been crushed and crinkled under Kristoph's stern grasp. "Now, I suppose you'd like to learn the mechanism behind it. Wouldn't you?"

"Smuggled from prison." Apollo spat. Where else could anyone find drugs like that? Kristoph didn't seem like the type to know a dealer.

"Terrible misconception, actually," Kristoph said, adjusting his glasses, "Such substances are hard to come by in solitary confinement, what with routine checks and lack of other inmates."

Apollo clenched his jaw, a dull ache permeating his chin. He could tell how much Kristoph was enjoying this. The satisfied gleam in the murderer's eyes sickened him. He felt a strong urge to outright refuse an explanation just to spite the criminal, but…well, there was no other way to know what had happened.

Kristoph reached into the inside of his suit blazer and pulled out a small, transparent vial. In it rattled a few dozen sky blue tablets.

"Thank your local pharmacy for your experience," Kristoph said, "Diphenhydramine was easy to procure. But of course, you wouldn't be familiar with the chemical name." The murderer leaned back, relishing in the reveal. "Over-the-counter sleeping aids. Not commonly perceived as dangerous, although the fine print proves that an overdose may have…_interesting_ effects."

Apollo flattened his palm against the ground, his other hand closing into a fist. God, he just wanted to punch him. Just once. Or twice.

It didn't matter how many times, actually.

He tried to lift himself up, but to no avail. Fatigue held him hostage.

"Well?"

Kristoph looked down at him pointedly, slipping the sleeping pills back into his suit. Apollo had no idea how many the man had used, but it looked like there were enough in there to torture him for an eternity.

Seemed like he'd have to sell his dignity for safety.

"Clever," Apollo growled, tone prickling with reluctance, "Very clever."

Kristoph crossed his arms. "Don't patronize me, Justice. Any fool can see just how infuriated you are."

Oh, he was. If his muscles weren't weak and his body wasn't bound by weariness, he would've had his hands around the murderer's throat by now. Squeezing that smugness straight into oblivion…

_No no no. Stop thinking that. Stop._

"What do you want?" Apollo asked. His voice still felt hoarse, but he had to get to the point.

"Hmmm." Kristoph hummed, slipping off of the armchair. The man paced forward and knelt by Apollo, fixing him with a curious look. "Do you recall how I used to prepare you before one of my cases?"

Against his better judgement, Apollo let himself drift back to memories of a more peaceful time. Kristoph sitting across him at a narrow desk, fingers laced and eyes piercing. His own mind, flooded with both anxiety and excitement.

And then they'd begin the game.

It was quite simple, really. Each of them would have a copy of the case file on hand. Kristoph would ask one question, then Apollo would ask another. They'd start off with basic information, such as facts about each witness and the circumstances of the trial. Then they'd get more complicated, with Apollo acting as the prosecutor and Kristoph maintaining his cool defense.

Kristoph would give him feedback on each answer and question he asked. Apollo would try his best to corner Kristoph with complex queries. The first person who was stumped on a question would have to prepare the court record for the next day.

Apollo had never won.

It was called…

"Cross-interrogation," Apollo said, "I remember."

"Very good." Kristoph reached towards his head and combed through his hair. "So you haven't forgotten."

Apollo's skin crawled, his intestines threatening to tie themselves into knots the longer Kristoph touched him. _Let's get this over with._ "I'm guessing you want to play."

"Astute, Justice." Kristoph remarked. To Apollo's relief, the man's hand drew away from his head. "However, there will be a slight change in rules."

Kristoph stood up, pacing towards the fireplace. The glow of the dancing flames flickered in the eyes.

"If I am unable to answer a question, I will set you free."

Apollo's heart pounded in his ears. He stared up at Kristoph, focusing on the man's angular face. Then…to the murderer's hand.

No tension. No twitching. Nothing.

His bracelet hadn't tightened.

_A real chance._

"Okay," Apollo agreed. "Let's play—"

"I wasn't finished, Justice." Kristoph interrupted. Apollo held his tongue, watching the man's delicate fingers curl around a log and toss it into the flames.

The fire crackled, spitting sparks into the air and shadows across their faces.

"If you are unable to answer a question, you will cut your connection to Phoenix Wright."


	11. Chasing Dread

"No."

Kristoph raised his eyebrows. Apollo clenched his teeth.

After a few seconds of silence, Kristoph finally spoke.

"No?" The murderer towered over him, glasses flashing. "You are truly willing to refuse?"

Apollo avoided Kristoph's piercing gaze, trying and failing to settle his nerves.

_It's a trap. _

Apollo was usually skeptical by nature, but this was just too obvious. Every single aspect of the deal screamed deception. Kristoph's sinister smirk upon offering up the terms. The promise of freedom dangling oh-so-conveniently within his reach.

High risk, high reward.

_I've never even won the damn game. _

Whenever they'd played this in the past, Kristoph had crushed him. Each time he'd felt like he was on the cusp of victory, he'd get annihilated by a divergent line of reasoning or a justified accusation. Who's to say he'd have a chance of winning now? It was pointless.

Except…

There had to be a reason why they were dragging Phoenix into this.

"I'm deciding against it." Apollo restated. His tone grew firmer when he noticed Kristoph's frown deepen. "You're just using me to get to Mr. Wright."

"Of course. Pitiful child's logic." Kristoph hissed. The man grasped one of the fireplace pokers, white knuckles jutting out as he stirred the embers stirred under the sharpened iron. "Focus on the implications, Justice. I'm offering you reasons. The answers you crave." A grin creeped across Kristoph's face, stretching into an ominous expression. "You simply can't resist."

Apollo bit the inside of his cheek. Profanities sprung to the tip of his tongue, but he held them back through clipped words. "Just tell me what you mean."

Kristoph's soft laugh echoed above him, nearly cracking Apollo's resolve. "Still nothing more than an apprentice, aren't you?" The criminal quietly adjusted his glasses, cool and calculated as always. "You're caught in chasing _meaning_, Justice. Here you are, pretending as if you could deny me in favor of safety. We both know your insatiable curiosity will not allow for it."

This was definitely part of some elaborate scheme. Kristoph's relaxed posture and lifted chin were a good few levels above smug, and Apollo could tell that the man was comfortable basking in his own arrogance.

It was unbelievably frustrating.

The criminal's sheer hubris grated against Apollo's better judgement. Deep down, he wanted to prove Kristoph wrong. It'd be over if he forced a simple "hell no" out of his mouth. Kristoph would be furious, of course, but even that wouldn't last forever. Eventually he'd be left there, lying in silence, with nothing but his imagination conjuring up make-believe theories and fantasies of escape…

He couldn't do it.

He _had_ to know.

"Go to hell." Apollo snarled. Kristoph only chuckled.

"Quite unoriginal, Justice. Still, I believe you agree with me."

Apollo pictured himself staring straight back at Kristoph's bitter glare, the murderer's silence crowning him as a free man. It wasn't impossible, was it? After all, there had to be some things that Kristoph simply _couldn't_ answer. What good was a criminal's "devious plot" if it was revealed? At some point, Kristoph would have to stop answering.

_I'm the one with the lie-detecting bracelet, anyway._

Luckily, that wasn't his only advantage.

"You can't make me cut off Mr. Wright, even if I _did_ lose." Apollo noted. "What would you want me to do? Message him? Call him? Just stop responding? Either way, he'll know something's wrong."

Phoenix could be nonchalant at times, but damn if he didn't pick up on the slightest hint of trouble. Everyone knew the big moments from his old trials…finding minuscule details on grainy photographs, picking apart witness testimonies, and revealing murderers' motives were nothing less than impressive. But after being part of the Agency for a few months, Apollo noticed that even the small things didn't slip past the ex-attorney.

He still remembered the time he'd dragged himself to the Wrights' place with a stomachache, armed with a game plan to hide any sign of pain. Trucy had a tendency to get way too worried, and Mr. Wright…well, at the time, Apollo had too much work to risk Phoenix sending him home. There was no other way but to pretend that he was fine.

He'd spent a good half hour studying his face in the mirror, training himself not to wince or grimace while getting ready. He'd swallowed some medicine, hoping that the effects would kick in soon enough. Then, with complete confidence and nerves of steel, he'd walked into the Agency, ready to face Phoenix at last.

"Good morning, Mr. Wright." he'd said.

"Hey, Apollo," Phoenix had responded, after giving him a quick once-over, "Doing alright?"

"Yes."

That was all it had taken for Phoenix to raise his eyebrows, walk closer to him, and scrutinize him more intensely. Apollo still didn't know what it was that had caught Phoenix's attention, especially after all that practice suppressing his symptoms.

"You sure? Looks like you're not feeling too well."

In three minutes flat, Phoenix had figured it out. The rest of that day had been spent lying on the Agency couch, with Trucy fretting over him and Phoenix handing him bowls and bowls of soup.

It was the most unproductive he'd been in ages. And yet…it was also one of his warmest memories.

_I don't want to lose them_.

"I'm disappointed, Justice. You've grown to underestimate me." Kristoph said, ripping Apollo back to reality. Whatever peaceful feeling Apollo felt from remembering the past was crushed within seconds. "Wright believes that there is something wrong with you already. He _expects_ it…considering your recent disagreement, that is."

Apollo's eyes widened.

_He can't know. He can't. _

No one else had been there for that argument.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Apollo protested. Maybe Kristoph was just guessing. After all, the ongoing tension between him and Phoenix wasn't exactly a secret—

"You didn't think you'd go back after that, did you?" Kristoph shook his head at Apollo's shocked expression, a soft tsk escaping from his lips. "Yet here you are. Desperately wishing to return."

"How do you know?" Apollo questioned. He tried to inch closer to the criminal to no avail.

Kristoph's eyes gleamed. "That would be your first question, Justice."

Apollo pressed his lips into a thin line, consumed by contemplation. There was no way out of this without making a choice: play the game and risk it all, or refuse and remain just as lost as he was now.

He knew what the right decision was, of course. Refuse. For once, he just had to swallow his curiosity and deal with being left in the dark.

But goddamnit, Kristoph was right about him.

"Okay. Fine." Apollo spat. "Answer it."

Kristoph smiled. There it was…that calm, tranquil glow.

A melancholy pang struck some unreachable region of Apollo's mind.

_Why does my chest hurt? _

"Overly keen as usual." Kristoph said, shaking his head. The criminal looped Apollo's blue tie around his neck and, with slow, deliberate, _painstaking_ finesse, fixed it into a complex knot. "This will certainly be entertaining, if nothing—"

Frustration pushed the painful feeling away.

"Just. Answer. The. Question."

"Very well, Justice. I bow to your impatience." Kristoph sank into Apollo's armchair like an emperor claiming a brand new throne. "To answer your question…you told me yourself." Apollo glared up from the ground. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would I?"

As far as he could tell, his bracelet hadn't tightened. So Kristoph was telling the truth…in some twisted, convoluted way. He just couldn't figure it out—

"You'll have to wait your turn for that."

_Damn it. I have to be careful how I ask things, too. _

"Fine. Go ahead." Apollo said. The faster he breezed through Kristoph's questions, the faster he'd get the information he needed.

"Alright." Kristoph crossed his slender fingers together, peering down at him from above. "Who was the last person you were in contact with, and for what reason?"

This seemed like a relatively easy one. "Klavier. And we met because…" Oh shit. It wasn't _that_ easy. Apollo remembered the conversation he'd had with Klavier, chock full of vulnerability, and tried to think of a way to downplay their meeting. "Because Mr. Wright told me to."

Kristoph narrowed his eyes, looking unconvinced. "Justice. I hope you are aware that if I find out you're lying, I will not hesitate to punish you."

"No, no, it's true. I really _did_ meet with Klavier." Apollo said, frantically trying to piece together some semblance of proof. "He was the last person to call me. And Mr. Wright…Mr. Wright wanted me to check on him."

"Hmmm." Kristoph scrutinized him for a moment. As the seconds slipped by, the murderer's mouth twisted into a frown. "Fair enough."

Apollo barely held back a relieved sigh. Even though they had just started, tensions were already running high. "Okay. So…what did you mean, _I_ told you? Actually, wait." Apollo thought hard for a better way to word it. If he kept asking short questions, he'd get almost nothing back. "What disagreement are you referring to, and…give details on how you heard about it."

"You had an argument with Wright recently. Serious enough that you reconsidered returning to his…_Agency._" The last word rolled off Kristoph's tongue with an air of disgust, but the murderer pressed on before Apollo could retaliate. "As for how I found out…it was simply a matter of using the right drugs." Kristoph flashed him a cunning grin. "Hallucinations make you delightfully gregarious, I've noted."

Right. The drugs. Considering that he could only recall brief, horrifying moments of that experience, there was no telling what else he had spilled.

"Are you expecting anyone to visit you within the next few days?" Kristoph continued, "If so, who?"

As Apollo's mind raced to answer the question, he picked up on a small detail.

_A few days, huh? He's got a pretty short plan. _

"I haven't invited anyone over, if that's what you're asking." Apollo responded. Kristoph hummed.

"Any unexpected guests to keep watch for?"

"What was the rule again?" Apollo mused, not bothering to suppress his sarcasm. "I thought it was one question at a time."

Kristoph cast him a dark look. Apollo refused to look away.

"Very well. It shall be enforced more strictly, then." Kristoph conceded. Apollo's heart pounded, invigorated by the small act of defiance. This was a good start.

Now it was time for a strategy. Before diving into deeper questions, he needed to get the more immediate matters out of the way. That meant anything that would be directly affected by his situation right now.

Today was Friday, so work wasn't an issue. He usually kept visiting the Agency on weekends, but considering what had happened…well, he doubted that Phoenix would be expecting him. No chance of the landlord since he'd already paid rent. His neighbor _could_ have potentially complained about the noise, but the last thing Apollo remembered was that the man had gone to the airport right after feeding—

"Calico!" He breathed. Panic burst in his chest. "My cat. What did you do?"

The last time Apollo recalled seeing Calico was when he was trapped in that closet. She had definitely been scratching at the door, from what he could put together…something about telepathy floated through his brain, but he dismissed the strange thought. Hopefully she was still safe…or at the very least, alive…

"I couldn't care less about your _vermin_, Justice." Kristoph scoffed. "The cat is in the bedroom, cowering in her crate."

Apollo closed his eyes for a moment, absolutely relieved. There was no doubt that she was trapped, terror-stricken, and probably traumatized, but she wasn't dead.

He should've told Clay that he couldn't keep her back when she was a kitten. Or been more firm about saying no, honestly. Now she was stuck in this hellscape with him.

"Unexpected guests?" Kristoph continued. The murderer crossed his fingers and tilted his head, morphing from an imposing figure to an eerie one. "Be thorough. I will not tolerate unwelcome witnesses."

_Witnesses? _

"Well…Klavier and Trucy are the most likely," Apollo started, a sense of dread steadily descending upon him, "Then there's the landlord, but I already paid him…maintenance maybe…Mr. Wright, but I doubt it…and…Clay Terran."

It had been a while since he'd seen Clay. Still, Apollo remembered the random visits from before he'd joined the Agency and ultimately decided not to count the astronaut out. After all, that's how he'd gotten Calico…Clay had surprised him at his apartment with a grin on his face and a kitten in his pocket, and stayed until Apollo finally agreed to adopt her.

Kristoph nodded. "Ah, yes, Klavier. Wright and his charity project are expected as well." Apollo dug his nails into his palms, insult upon insult hanging at the tip of his tongue, but Kristoph moved on. "Terran…your astronaut acquaintance, if I'm correct."

Apollo blinked. "You…know about him?"

"_Yes_, Justice." Kristoph pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperation seeping through his tone. "You used to work for me. Perhaps _you_ have forgotten our conversations, but I have not."

"I…I didn't…hmm." Apollo paused mid-sentence, realizing that he didn't know what to say. He hadn't expected Kristoph to remember small-talk from before. "Anyways, what—"

"No, Mr. Justice. That was your turn." Kristoph held up a hand when Apollo opened his mouth to object. "I told you that I knew Mr. Terran. A strict one question policy, as you requested."

Apollo groaned, slamming his forehead on the floor.

_This is going to be torture. _

"Torture" turned out to be an understatement. After half an hour of relentless grilling, analyzing, and strategizing, Apollo was wearing down rapidly. And there was still a lot left to be asked.

The exhaustive questions and aggravating answers were making his head spin. He closed his eyes, imagining himself waking back up in the Agency. God, if only this was a dream. He longed for Trucy to smack him in the face with her wand, jolting him out of this nightmare.

_Okay. Let's just go over what I've learned. _

It was his turn now, and Kristoph was waiting. He had to be quick.

Kristoph had given him 400mg of sleeping pills, and still had the rest of the bottle. That meant no more eating or drinking as long as he was captured. After all, another answer revealed that his phone and passcode had been taken away while he was drugged…there was no telling what else he'd lose if it happened again.

Other than the phone, the only other thing Kristoph had of his was the spare key he'd left at Gavin and co. months ago. He had trusted Kristoph to keep it safe. That's how the murderer had broken in.

That's what led to this situation.

_No, no. Don't fixate on that again. _

He opened his eyes. Kristoph fingers drummed on the armchair above, nearly scattering Apollo's thoughts.

_Focus. Please, just focus. _

Kristoph had stuck to understanding the logistics of their arrangement until now, but Apollo had a feeling that that would change very soon. So far, Kristoph found out that he had no hidden weaponry, no other accessible technology, and no current plan of escape. The criminal had all but confirmed that Apollo was well and truly trapped.

It was time to shift directions.

"What are you going to use me for, if you're keeping me alive like this?" Apollo asked at last. With all immediate concerns out of the way, he could finally focus on what had _really_ been burning him up. "I know you could've just killed me."

Kristoph's hand stilled. Apollo concentrated on his bracelet. No lies had been told yet, but he was sure that—

"Revenge, Justice. You will help me with revenge."

It was the truth.

A sick feeling settled in Apollo's stomach. He felt all the more anxious when he looked up to see Kristoph's mouth curled into a cruel, crooked smirk.

"I expected that you'd arrive at this point." Kristoph continued. A satisfied gleam shone in the murderer's eyes, steadily evolving into something much more sinister. "Revenge against you is a given, of course. However, I originally wanted you alive to watch as I destroyed everyone around you. Just enough to endure it all."

_Just enough…to endure every punishment. _

This is what Klavier had warned him about.

"That changed once I saw_ this_ in my office." Kristoph reached into his suit pocket and pulled out Apollo's silver apartment key, turning it between his fingers. "It occurred to me how primitive my plan was. It was never _you_ I wanted to devastate."

Apollo's tone dropped to a whisper. "Mr. Wright."

Kristoph nodded, seeming pleased by Apollo's conclusion. "Very good."

Forget the rules of the game. This _wasn't_ a game. It never had been.

_This is real. _

"But why, Kristoph?" Apollo pressed. His voice strained as he struggled to come to terms with the reality of the situation. "Why am I alive?"

Kristoph crossed his fingers, that soothing smile lighting up his face once again.

"Simple, Justice. I haven't decided which would be more devastating."

A manic look warped Kristoph's warm expression.

"To break Wright's son, or to kill him."


	12. The First Crack

Apollo wasn't exactly sure _when_ Mr. Wright began treating him differently.

Crawling back to Phoenix and rejoining the Agency had never been a part of his plan. Hell, it hadn't even been his last resort. Phoenix's urgent message and Trucy's cunning guilt-trip had ended up convincing him, but only after he'd been starved dry and driven mad by two months of unemployment.

Apollo had hated returning. Phoenix had sensed it. But when the two of them met at the hospital back then, they came to an unspoken agreement.

_We're only doing this for Trucy. _

When had that all changed?

"I'm not his son." Apollo growled. Kristoph shook his head, chuckling under his breath.

"Don't fool yourself, Justice. You might as well be." The criminal casually checked his nails, disregarding Apollo's bitter glare. "Wright was never one for professionalism."

Well, that much was true. Considering that Phoenix's idea of "mentoring" was nothing more than heavy hints and cryptic messages, Apollo couldn't really expect a level of sophistication. And that was _without_ counting all the hand holding and 4D-chess that had taken over almost every case to date.

"He's just…he's, er…easygoing." Apollo said, struggling to find a positive way to spin Phoenix's nonchalance. "Not being strict with me doesn't mean he sees me as—"

"Incorrect." Kristoph cut off.

Apollo paused for a moment. Maybe the wording was off. He took a few seconds to mull over his phrasing before settling on something different.

"Just because Mr. Wright doesn't give me stern advice—"

"Irrelevant."

Kristoph adjusted his glasses, seeming disinterested. Apollo gritted his teeth and carried on.

"His teaching style's unconvention—"

"Inconsequential."

"In court, he's—"

"Unimportant."

"It's his _job_ to support me during cases—"

Kristoph scoffed, whipping off his glasses and fixing Apollo with a disappointed look. "Do you truly believe that this is about Wright's _legal_ counseling?"

Frustration consumed the last of Apollo's thinning patience.

"Fine. That's your question? Then yes. _Yes_, okay?" Apollo snapped. Rationality was swiftly slipping out of his grasp, being replaced by pure and steady rage. "He helps me with work. That's all. How could you just assume—?"

Kristoph smirked. "Wright—"

"Stop fucking interrupting me."

The smirk vanished.

For a moment, Kristoph almost seemed…taken aback.

Apollo couldn't care less.

"I'm his…his student, his mentee, his….I don't know, something like that. But I'm _not_ his son." Apollo said, maintaining his firm tone. "He doesn't see me like that."

"A lie."

Apollo blinked. Kristoph's expression grew dark.

"I. _Didn't._ Lie." Apollo protested. His clipped tone seethed with blatant hostility. "You're wrong. Just stop."

Kristoph fell silent, pinning him in place with a piercing gaze. Apollo stared back, determined to keep up his defiance.

After a few seconds, the murderer stood up and paced towards the coffee table, picking up a gleaming object. "Is that so?" Kristoph murmured. Apollo's gaze latched onto it the instant the murderer turned back to face him.

_Kitchen knife. _

"You've forgotten, Justice," Kristoph said, swinging the knife handle between his fingers. "You don't have room for falsehoods."

Apollo's chest constricted. Kristoph stepped closer.

The blade shone in the flickering light.

_I'm dead. _

"It's the truth." Apollo attempted, trying and failing to keep his voice from wavering. Maybe if he doubled down, Kristoph would stop doubting him. "He doesn't—"

"You asked me how I could assume this." Kristoph interjected, kneeling beside him once more. Apollo froze. "Allow me to answer."

_Run. Run! _

With the knife dangling only a few inches away from his eye, a surge of adrenaline coursed through Apollo's system. He pressed his palms flat against the floor and managed to lift himself up to his elbows—just enough to start crawling away. His worn muscles and spinning head prevented him from standing any further, but—

Kristoph's hand shot forward, gripping the front of his shirt. Before he could react, the murderer jerked downwards and slammed Apollo's head back against the ground, nearly choking him with his own collar.

"Wright told me himself, during one of his…visits." Kristoph continued. Apollo felt the criminal let go of his shirt and grasp the back of his hair. Within seconds, Kristoph drew his head back up with excruciating force. "Shocking, isn't it? I doubt my _dear friend_ informed you of his escapades to solitary confinement."

Every emotion Apollo knew he was supposed to feel was drowned out by the overwhelming pain. He forced himself to decipher the words themselves, despite the fact that Kristoph seemed keen on tearing away his scalp.

"When…did he…stop, _stop,_ let go—!"

Before his could finish his thought, Kristoph yanked his head higher…right until they were face-to-face.

"You could never imagine it, I presume. The great Phoenix Wright, gloating." Cool steel pressed against the curve of Apollo's neck. Kristoph's eyes gleamed. "He came to my cell last week itself. And two weeks before that."

Apollo felt his pulse pressing against the knife. Only two things were left to shield his artery: a thin layer of skin, and Kristoph's presumably temporary level of restraint.

"He assured me of your wellbeing each time I inquired about you." Kristoph said. "And during his last visit…he admitted that you had grown as close to him as his _daughter._" A sharp sting. The blade had pierced through. "Almost like a second son."

"Stop…"

Too much pressure.

Apollo's skull throbbed under Kristoph's vice grip, his hair still tangled in the murderer's spidery fingers. He felt afraid to breathe, fearful that the knife would drive further into his neck with each inhalation. All he could do was bite the inside of his cheek to distract himself, his teeth digging harder into the side of his mouth with every second that passed.

A metallic taste pricked the edge of his tongue. He tilted his face towards the floor, trying to keep himself from swallowing blood.

Kristoph didn't like that.

"Look me in the eye, Justice." The murderer ordered, wrenching on his head again.

Apollo squeezed his eyes shut.

"Look. Me. In. The. Eye."

_I can't I can't I can't I— _

"Can't…I can't."

"Explain." Kristoph demanded.

The blade's serrated edge scraped against his neck, ridges running along his flesh.

"You're…hurting me…"

Something clattered to the floor, and the slicing pain was relieved. Apollo's eyes flew open at the sound.

He glanced down to see the knife rattling against the hardwood.

He looked up to meet Kristoph's soft, gentle gaze.

_Why? _

A sickeningly nostalgic feeling twisted deep in Apollo's chest.

_Why does it hurt? _

"Very good," Kristoph soothed, carefully lowering his head back to the ground, "Now relax."

No more bashing. No more beating. Just Kristoph's thin fingers running through his hair, as if hoping to comfort him. The knife lying close to his face, its honed tip pointing towards his cheek.

And the crushing confusion, the deep-seated terror, the sudden sense of _serenity_ roiling in his system, flattening him into submission and paralyzing every working part of his mind.

"You look tense, Justice." Kristoph smiled, easing his tone. "Wound up tight."

Too similar. It was too similar. That expression, that inflection…it was exactly how Kristoph used to be.

"Don't." Apollo breathed.

Kristoph ignored his pathetic warning. "I believe it's my turn."

"Just…stop…" Apollo's voice, weighed down by reminiscence, sounded weak. "That's enough—"

"Trucy Wright. How old is she now?"

Apollo shut down.

"I…don't know. I don't know what to say." He forced. It felt like his throat was closing, and he wondered if he'd end up suffocating on nothing but air. "I just...I don't know."

"Remember…you simply cannot lie." Kristoph said, gesturing towards the knife. An intense wave of disgust flooded Apollo's mind the second the murderer did. "Otherwise—"

"She's in high school, okay?" Apollo said. He didn't know what Kristoph needed her age for, but something told him that the number was more significant than it seemed. "She's just a kid—"

"That was all I needed." Kristoph interjected. "_Exactly_ what I needed, in fact."

_Shit_.

"This is between us." Apollo argued. His tone grew faster with the rising anxiety, his mind conjuring worst-case scenarios left and right. "You, me, and…a-and Mr. Wright. She's a kid, there's no reason to drag her into this—"

"Don't waste time. Ask your question."

Apollo's heart raced as he scoured for a way to steer the discussion away from Trucy. Should he ask about Mr. Wright as a distraction? Fake some "important" information? Mention Klavier, maybe?

But deep down, he knew it wouldn't work. There was a reason Kristoph used to be the coolest defense in the West.

_Nothing's going to make him let this go. _

"Please, Mr. Gavin," Apollo pleaded, "You already have me. She doesn't know anything!"

_But I have to try. _

Kristoph finally let go of his hair, drawing back his hand. A glimmer of relief suppressed some of Apollo's horrid revulsion.

"She accompanied you in court. She may be a child, but she is not a stupid one." Kristoph stated. "Either way, that is beside the point. She is Wright's daughter."

"And _I'm_ his son."

Kristoph raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Desperation devoured the last semblance of dignity Apollo had left.

"You said so yourself." Apollo said. At this point, he had to take whatever advantage he could get. "Mr. Wright told you himself. I…it doesn't matter what I believe."

Kristoph furrowed his brow for an instant…but only an instant. With a shake of his head and a flash of his glasses, the man's face settled back into that calm look.

"Your turn, Mr. Justice."

_He's not letting her go. _

"Not her. Please, not her. She's only—"

"Ask."

_He's not letting her go! _

"Mr. Gavin, please, I swear I'll do everything you say. Just leave her alone. Just please,_ please_ leave her—"

"Beg a second more, Justice, and I'll carve it out of you."

_It's over. _

His feeble persuasion skills never stood a chance against Kristoph's persistence. The helplessness of it all was hollowing out his very soul…and he'd handed Kristoph all the tools to scrape it away.

There was only one thing left to say.

"Are you going to kill her?"

Kristoph contemplated the question for an eternity. Apollo held his breath the whole time.

"Yes."

_No._

Apollo fell silent. The loathing he felt towards Kristoph was so intense that he was starting to feel nauseated by the murderer's very presence.

He had failed to save Trucy. He had failed to save himself. Now they were both going to die by the hand of a sadistic sociopath, who'd no doubt enjoy every second of—

"Now for my question, Justice." Kristoph said, "Which school does Trucy Wright attend?"

Apollo couldn't take it anymore.

"I…can't answer that."

Kristoph tilted his head, feigning as though he had no idea what Apollo had just said. "What?"

Apollo closed his eyes. A steady pain was building in his throat with every memory of Trucy he sorted through in his mind, every last snippet of joy he tried to cling on to. "I'm done."

"Come now." Kristoph urged, slipping a hand under Apollo's chin. The murderer ran his thumb over Apollo's bruised jaw, lightly pressing on the injury. "Play the game, Apollo."

Apollo craned his neck upwards, meeting Kristoph's eyes one last time. "You won, Mr. Gavin."

Kristoph grinned.

"Good effort, Mr. Justice."

This time, Apollo didn't fight back when Kristoph reached over and twisted his wrists back into the handcuffs. He didn't struggle when Kristoph grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dragged him back into that dark bedroom closet, leaving him collapsed in a heap alongside wrinkled clothes and barely polished shoes. And, just before Kristoph locked him away from the world again, he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Think of how to phrase your farewell to Wright tonight," Kristoph instructed, "He'll be hearing it tomorrow."

Kristoph shut the door.

Apollo stared into the blackness. Only one thought escaped the void.

_I lost._


	13. The Price of Reminiscence

Apollo had to admit—working at the Agency was one of the most difficult things he'd had to adjust to since leaving law school. The actual _work_ hadn't been too different from what he'd been doing so far, but everything else…well, it couldn't have been more outlandish. The eccentric lifestyle. The strange props covering every corner of the place. Trucy's impromptu magic tricks that always, _always_ sent his paperwork flying. For a while, it all seemed impossible to get used to.

In reality, he only needed two weeks. Sure, things were weird, but with Trucy's help, he eventually came up with the answer to everything. Three random pigeons hopping on the coffee table? Magic. That fork floating over a plate of eternally fresh spaghetti? Magic. Important court documents turning into confetti? Magic. Apollo's last, undying sliver of patience? You guessed it—magic.

With an open mind and a lot of exasperation, Apollo was finally able to say the words "get your wand and panties off of this table so I can work" without stuttering from sheer embarrassment.

Trucy called it character development. He called it "survival." Either way, he'd managed to overcome half of his struggles with just a little time.

That's right. _Half._

The other half? All from the legendary attorney himself: Phoenix Wright.

Aside from his top-notch deduction skills, Phoenix also had the exceptional ability to infuriate Apollo like no other. At first, Apollo strained to exchange even a few words with the ex-attorney. Soon, it didn't take long for almost every conversation between them to devolve into some sort of heated argument.

In hindsight, though…"argument" wasn't even the right word.

Apollo would struggle to suppress his irritation, unable to restrain some of his annoyance. Phoenix would grow amused each time Apollo failed to hold back, aggravating the young attorney even more. Ultimately, the one-sided fight would end with Phoenix shrugging it off, leaving Apollo fuming for hours after.

He still remembered one of the clashes they'd had. Phoenix had been sprawled on one of the couches, whiling away a lazy Sunday. Across from him, Apollo cradled a fresh mug of coffee, scrutinizing document after document.

"Having fun, Apollo?" Phoenix said. Apollo kept his eyes on his paperwork.

"_Clearly,_ Mr. Wright."

Phoenix laughed. "Wow. You're more sarcastic than me, huh?"

Apollo didn't bother responding. He was losing focus, and his brain was already buzzing from translating heaps of legal jargon.

That didn't stop Phoenix. "You know, I always wondered…why do you use so much hair gel?"

Apollo downed a swig of coffee, nearly losing his place. "It's just my style."

"Ah. I remember when_ I_ used to use hair gel." Phoenix mused, adjusting his beanie. "You aren't trying to imitate me, are you?"

Apollo choked in the middle of another sip, coughing profusely. Phoenix raised his eyebrows.

"Wait…really?" The ex-attorney said, "I was just kidding…I didn't know you idolized me _that_ much—"

"N-No!" Apollo managed to stammer. He cleared his throat, setting the coffee mug back on the table. "That's not…I didn't—"

"Well, it _is_ kind of flattering. You know what they say about imitation, right?" Before Apollo could respond, Phoenix stroked his chin and continued. "Hmm. Why else would you use it?"

It was too late. Despite skimming over the page in front of him multiple times, Apollo couldn't find the last sentence he'd been reading. "Damn it…I don't know where I was."

"Take a break, kid. Your head's gonna explode." Phoenix said. Apollo stared at him reluctantly, but Phoenix was too lost in contemplation to notice. "Maybe…you want to look taller?"

Apollo's eyebrow twitched. He crossed his fingers, trying desperately to remain civil. "I need to get this done, Mr. Wright."

Phoenix shook his head, glancing in Apollo's direction. "Come on. It can't just be because you're short, can it?"

"It's _not_ because I'm—! Just…no, okay?" Apollo said, barely managing to tone himself down. He ran a hand down his face and sighed. "If I tell you, will you let me work?"

"Hey, this is a _break._" Phoenix protested. At Apollo's dry expression, he gave in. "Alright, alright. Tell me."

Apollo fiddled with tips of his hair spikes, trying to capture his feelings in words. "It's like…like a sort of routine. It gives me some confidence, just standing in front of the mirror and making myself look exactly how I want to."

"Oh." Phoenix scratched his head, looking as though he were piecing together a complex mental puzzle. "You like a sense of control."

"I guess you could put it that way." Apollo said. Phoenix nodded.

"So…you never wear your hair down?"

"I mean…not really." Apollo rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Only if I'm tired, or super stressed. Maybe I'd look better, but…it's just my thing."

"What about when you're relaxing?" Phoenix asked. "Or going to a concert? Or for something formal?"

"I'd still keep it for those last two events. I've done it this way for so long, it feels normal." Apollo said. "As for relaxing…well, I don't think I would, but I…I haven't been relaxed…in a long time…"

Apollo trailed off, too uncomfortable to continue. Phoenix blinked.

"Apollo…do you think you've been working too hard?"

"What? No, Mr. Wright!" Apollo exclaimed, sitting up straight. Phoenix slid off the couch and stood up, striding towards him.

"You know what? Let's just take the day off."

"I'm fine, Mr. Wri—wait, _what?_"

With a simple shrug, Phoenix reached over and swept all of Apollo's documents off of the coffee table.

"What the…_Mr. Wright!_"

"Now, don't get too worked up, Apollo." Phoenix said. Apollo immediately fell to the floor and started picking up all the sheets, trying to organize them the way he had sorted before Phoenix's unwanted intervention. "Let your hair down."

Phoenix chuckled, impressed by his own wordplay. Apollo shot him a withering glare. "We _needed_ to get that done! You just undid all the work I've been doing—!"

"Just relax." Phoenix reached down, ruffling Apollo's hair. "We'll do it later."

"No, _I'll_ do it later!" Apollo swatted away Phoenix's hand and shot to his feet, unable to keep his composure any longer. "_I'm_ the one who does everything around here! You just…you…argh!"

Apollo scooped up whatever remaining papers he could and stormed away from Phoenix, locking himself in another room. He'd ended up working the rest of the day.

He'd been so angry with Mr. Wright back then. The memory had stuck, irritating him well after Phoenix had apologized and forgotten about the whole thing.

Now, he missed it.

Apollo leaned against the closet wall, stretching out his legs the best he could. Everything was cramped. His arms were pressed up against a corner, twisted behind his back. His feet competed for space with four other pairs of shoes, barely having enough room to move. No matter what he did, he couldn't get comfortable.

If only he'd relaxed back then.

_I have to think of a way to tell him. _

He didn't know how long it had been since Kristoph had thrown him in here. At any moment, the murderer could fling open the door and drag him back out, demanding his end of the deal. Apollo had to come up with something by then. If he didn't…

_He won't let me say goodbye to Mr. Wright. _

He took a deep breath, preparing himself once again. Not only did he have to make up the initial message, but he'd have to anticipate Phoenix's responses as well. And he had to say it in a way that would prevent Phoenix from thinking anything was wrong.

The idea of escape flashed through his mind one more time. He batted it away, bitter that every scenario he could think of ended in horrible, horrible failure.

Getting out of here now was out of the question…the handcuffs were made of metal, and he could barely muster the energy to move. That just left trying something over the phone.

If he yelled anything, Kristoph would kill him. Plain and simple.

If he refused to speak, Kristoph would either threaten him, torture him, or kill him.

If he tried to signal something, there was a very slim chance that Phoenix would decipher it. However, there was an even greater possibility that Phoenix would rush over in concern, falling right into Kristoph's web.

Most likely, though, Kristoph would pick up on it. And then kill him.

He was trapped.

_Okay, let's try again_, he thought, _One more time. I'm fine. _

Apollo closed his eyes, concentrating.

_Mr. Wright…it's Apollo. I just wanted to tell you that I…I don't feel like I can come back to the Agency. _

He imagined Phoenix's expression. A slight frown. Shock in his eyes at first, gradually transforming into sadness…then understanding. Then: "why not, Apollo? Is everything okay?"

That was the trickiest question. Apollo wasn't sure if he'd be able to pull it off, but he'd have to try.

_Yes. I just need some space right now. _

Phoenix would probably try to ask him to talk, of course. He'd refuse. Phoenix might ask if he was alright again, and he'd have to swallow all that pain and regret and say yes, he was. And if he succeeded, Phoenix would say, in the most dejected voice, "Alright, Apollo. I understand."

Then there would be only one thing left to say.

_Thank you, Mr. Wright. Goodbye. _

He couldn't do it.

Apollo felt his throat close at the thought of hanging up. Would that really be the last conversation he'd have with Phoenix? Out of everyone he knew, Phoenix was one of the few that he'd truly ended up opening up to. Phoenix knew what he was like when he was angry. Phoenix had tried to do what was best for him, even if he opposed it. They'd had their disagreements, but…at the end of the day…

Another memory surfaced, unbidden, to the front of Apollo's mind.

The aftermath of the Vera Misham trial.

Right after visiting Vera in the hospital, they'd all returned to the Agency. Trucy had danced around for a bit, still beaming about their lucky victory. Phoenix had poured himself a generous glass of grape juice, swishing it around with a smug smirk. And, after a moment's hesitation, Apollo had asked to use the shower. To "clear his head", he'd said. Phoenix had let him.

Apollo remembered turning the temperature up high, his skin stinging from the burning heat. He'd slicked back his hair, letting the boiling water trickle down his face. Then, once he'd thought the sound of the shower drowned everything else out, he sobbed.

Even now, he still didn't know _why_ he'd started crying. On paper, everything had gone well. Vera's miraculous recovery. The "Not Guilty" verdict. Kristoph's arrest. And yet all he could think about was Klavier's desperation, Kristoph's relentless taunting, Vera's glassy eyes as she collapsed on the stand…

Something had cracked.

He didn't know how long he'd spent in there. After dressing and returning to the living room, though…he noticed Phoenix steal glance at the clock. It was obvious that the ex-attorney had been waiting.

"Feeling better?" Phoenix asked.

"Er…yes, Mr. Wright." he responded. Something seemed off. He shrugged and swept his towel through his damp hair, imitating Phoenix's casual tone. "Thanks for letting me—"

"Don't thank me." Phoenix said. His gaze was unusually sharp. "You needed it, didn't you?"

Apollo stared at Phoenix. Phoenix stared back.

Finally, Apollo spoke.

"Mr. Wright, did you…hear…?"

Apollo couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. He looked away, humiliation smothering whatever words he had left.

Phoenix gently swirled his glass. The grape juice rippled. "Want to talk?"

Apollo hesitated.

Seconds slipped by. Phoenix waited.

"…yeah."

And they did.

_I'm not going to do it. _

Forget the game. Forget the deal. No matter how many times he rehearsed, he knew he wouldn't be able to cut Phoenix off like that.

There had to be another way.

Apollo pulled his wrists apart until the chain binding them was taut, searching for grooves along the handcuffs with his fingertips. He scrabbled at a set of four rivets, feeling around for an opening…and there it was. A small, shallow gap for a key.

He looked around. What did he have? There was nothing metallic in here…just leather and cloth. For once, he cursed himself for being born a boy. A single bobby-pin would have made the difference between life and death.

_Life and death… _

Nothing here meant that he'd have to try something once he was let out. And every option there was just going to get him killed.

Apollo groaned. Dead ends everywhere. He found himself wishing he didn't have a tongue, just so he wouldn't have to go through with Kristoph's plan…

_Wait. _

An uncomfortable idea blossomed in Apollo's mind, suffocating his desire to keep strategizing. He tried to push it away, but the longer he considered it, the more valid it began to seem.

_What would Kristoph do if…I couldn't speak? _

Force wouldn't work if he was physically unable to comply. It might not be considered disobeying, either—he could feign willingness, only to reveal that it was impossible for him to follow through. Of course, Kristoph could still kill him, but…there would be no sense to it. It wouldn't be as if Apollo was alerting anyone about the situation. Murdering him would just be a waste.

But how could he sabotage his own voice? He couldn't pretend to be mute—Kristoph would just torture it out of him. Screaming was a quick way to lose his voice, but it would catch the attention of everyone in the vicinity…including Kristoph. He chewed his lip, combing through his brain to find something, _anything_ useful.

_If I didn't have a tongue… _

That was it.

It was crazy, of course. He was going crazy. He curled into himself, hoping to banish the gruesome thought. Nonsense, that's all it was…sheer desperation, shaking his head into a miserable static.

Besides, how would he even do it? He couldn't use his hands. He didn't have any tools. The only way it could work, realistically, was if he bit it off.

_Wouldn't that be suicide, though? _

Way back in law school, Apollo had once read a case about a woman pleading insanity in court. In a fit of mania, she had grabbed her husband's head and bit off his tongue. Unfortunately, despite clear evidence of psychosis, she was implicated.

Not for assault. Not for domestic abuse. For the murder of her husband, who had died from the injury.

He shuddered, recalling the grisly details. That settled it—there was no point to severing his tongue. After remembering all that, he wasn't sure if he could even cut it, let alone hack it off.

_Hold on._

Cutting his tongue wouldn't kill him, would it?

Before he could stop himself, he pushed the tip of his tongue between his front teeth. It didn't seem _too_ bad…if he just sliced the end of it, he doubted it would do any permanent damage.

It would certainly prevent him from speaking for a while, though.

Oh, god. This wasn't some runaway train of thought, or some rogue manifestation of his stress. This had turned into a real plan.

And he was going to do it.

Apollo pressed the back of his head against the wall, steeling his nerves as best as he could. It would hurt like hell, but he had no other choice. He could either stomach the pain and save Phoenix from Kristoph's manipulation…or succumb and become the pawn Kristoph dreamed of.

He stretched his hands, grasping a fallen shirt behind his back. He opened his jaw, resting the edge of his tongue right between the ridges of his teeth. Finally, he balled up the shirt within a tight fist, squeezed his eyes shut, and braced himself.

_Sorry, Mr. Wright._

Then he bit down.


	14. A Taste of Freedom

"You did it, Polly! You made it disappear!"

He could hear Trucy giggling. The bells on her cape chimed behind him, so faint that she sounded miles and miles away.

Apollo tried to respond, but no sound came out. Trucy sighed.

"Well…not really, actually." she said, cheery as ever. Apollo couldn't see her in the darkness. "But you tried!"

"Hmmm…"

That was all he could muster. A blinding beam of light flooded his vision, illuminating everything in sight. Apollo closed his eyes.

Trucy gasped.

"Oh, god."

Her voice sounded warped. His eyes fluttered open for a second, before slipping shut once more.

She grabbed his shoulders. She shook him, thin fingers digging into his skin. Suddenly, someone was speaking over her, their words drowning out her muffled laughter.

"Justice…Justice! You fool, you absolute—_Justice!_"

Apollo tried again. He squinted into the brightness, focusing on the shadow looming over him.

Silver-rimmed glasses. Golden, gleaming hair.

And an utterly furious glare, skinning him alive with its intensity.

_Kristoph._

Almost reflexively, the phrase "get away" sprung to his tongue. As he tried to form the words, all the sensation in his body began flooding back. His aching head. His cold, clammy hands.

The excruciating pain exploding in his mouth. The sharp taste of liquid iron.

He clenched his teeth in a futile attempt to suppress the agony. Something seeped past the corners of his lips, trickling below his mouth.

He wanted to scream, but it hurt just to breathe.

"Justice. Look at me. Now!"

A hand pressed against the side of his face, forcing him to stare upwards.

For the first time in his life, Apollo saw wild panic in Kristoph's eyes.

"What the _hell_ did you do?" Kristoph demanded. There was no doubt about it—the man was absolutely frantic. "Tell me. Go on. _Tell me!_"

Apollo opened his mouth. More trickles snaked down his chin. He pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, forcing himself to face the overwhelming pain.

It was too much. He couldn't speak.

_It worked._

Kristoph ran his thumb along the edge of Apollo's jaw. Confusion smothered the remaining rage in the murderer's gaze.

"What have you done?"

The question repeated itself in Apollo's mind incessantly, drowning out all of Kristoph's other demands. Things were getting fuzzy. He stared at a blank spot worlds away, letting his brain ease into the feeling of weightlessness.

"Look, Justice."

Kristoph held a few fingers in front of him, obscuring his view.

They were covered in red.

Apollo blinked. An unrelenting wave of nausea twisted his stomach.

_What have you done what have you done what have you done what—_

"…is this? You're bleeding yourself to death, reckless fool—answer me!"

_What have I done?_

His mind was drifting away. His body was cemented in place. He couldn't make out anything anymore—his head was spinning infinitely, and his vision was turning gray.

"Don't. Don't do it, Justice—!"

_Too late._

CR * CR * CR * CR * CR * CR

"Disappointing."

Kristoph dragged a fireplace poker through the cold ashes, watching the charcoal crumble under the rusted iron. His voice sharpened.

"_Useless._"

Blackened wood chips surfaced from deep within the cinders. They were mere husks of the logs that had been used to keep the fire going—empty shells of their former shelves, burnt and buried away.

Apollo had lost count of how many Kristoph had uncovered.

_He's furious._

It had been a few minutes since Apollo had woken up in the living room. Consciousness had come in beats—it had been hard to keep his eyes open at first, but each moment awake brought along a new slice of reality.

His body curled up on the armchair. His hands, no longer bound. His tongue…still aching, the horrible pain exacerbated by a dense cotton gag stuffed in his mouth.

And Kristoph, only a few feet in front of him. Facing away.

"You've broken our deal." Kristoph stated. "No…you've_ ruined_ it."

Apollo could barely breathe. He reached up and grabbed the suffocating gag, resolving to remove it without catching the murderer's attention.

_Is he trying to smother me?_

His fingers shook as he extracted it at last, the pressure on his tongue lifting instantly. He sighed, feeling a fraction of the pain fade.

_I'm still alive._

But relief didn't last long.

Within a matter of seconds, a metallic taste began pooling in his mouth. A quick glance at the white cloth clasped in his hand revealed a scarlet splotch soaked into the fabric.

_Oh._

Apollo shoved the gag back into his mouth before any of the blood could escape. It was strange…for once, his fears _hadn't_ come true.

He looked towards the murderer, wondering why he'd been left alone. He only saw Kristoph's back.

There had to be a reason.

Dim remnants of his desperate plan swam deep in his mind. So much for acting like biting his tongue been an "accident." There was no way he could've avoided Kristoph's skepticism after fainting…sabotage was something that the criminal had a keen eye for.

Chances were, Kristoph knew the injury was intentional.

_Then why set me free?_

Apollo twisted his wrists, both glad and anxious that he was no longer handcuffed. When he stretched his feet, he didn't feel any restraints, either.

"I shouldn't have expected anything more from a caged animal." Kristoph muttered. Without any face-to-face interaction, Apollo could only assume that frustration had driven the criminal to talk to himself. But more importantly…

_I'm not being watched. _

The last time he'd been let loose, Kristoph knew he'd been too weak to get up. Still, the murderer's vigilant eye had never strayed from his form.

What was different now?

Apollo couldn't recall the exact details from just before he passed out, but he _did_ remember one thing—Kristoph's utter hysteria. The rarity of witnessing that side of Kristoph was not lost on him. Only extreme scenarios could bring out that kind of reaction…like a situation where someone valuable was gravely injured, for instance.

Kristoph believed he'd been hurt so badly that he couldn't move.

Apollo knew that that wasn't true.

His teeth tightened around the cotton gag. The pain had been paralyzing when he'd first experienced it, but now…

He drew his fingers into fist, feeling his arms tense up with ease. Whatever strength had been sapped from his muscles had returned with just a little rest.

And Kristoph didn't know.

_This could be my chance._

"Allow me to ask you something." Kristoph said. The criminal continued to trace lines in the dust, still not looking up. "Have you ever been to a wildlife sanctuary? Or rather, in your terms…a 'zoo.'"

Apollo ignored the bizarre question, keeping his eyes trained on Kristoph's spine. He watched the murderer's every move, scanning for an opening.

"Every 'zoo' has a section for big cats, you see. Lions, leopards, cheetahs…and tigers." Kristoph's words grew soft. A strange, melancholy tint tainted his tone. "When I was a child…I always admired the tigers."

The fireplace poker was the biggest hazard. Kristoph could easily stab him through the gut if he tried tackling now, destroying all of his efforts within seconds. He'd have to wait.

"Do you know what happens when you turn your back to a tiger, Justice?"

Apollo pressed his feet against the back of the armchair, wound up like a spring. As soon Kristoph put down the poker, he would leap forward, grabbing the murderer by the back of his neck. Then, he'd constrict the criminal's windpipe, cutting off all air until—

"It stalks you."

After stirring the kindling for a few seconds more, Kristoph returned the poker back to its place.

"And…it pounces."

Apollo hesitated.

Kristoph brushed the soot from his lavender suit, fingers hovering over the bloodstains on the lapel. Then, at long last…he turned around.

"Well? Aren't you going to pounce?" Kristoph said, smiling.

Apollo's skin crawled. Whatever gentleness Kristoph had been feigning before had vanished…this time, there was something inexplicably_ twisted_ in that expression. A strained smile, empty eyes…nothing more than parts of a veil, covering a roiling pit of loathing.

Kristoph paced closer and paused, as if expecting him to carry through. Apollo only stared, wide eyed.

_I can't…_

He shook his head stiffly.

"Very good." Kristoph reached down and patted his head. "You've learned."

Apollo trembled at the touch, his mind manic from terror. A few days ago, he would've jumped forward reckless courage, but now…now, he knew. This was just a prelude to whatever new torture Kristoph had crafted while he was unconscious. His brain reeled as he tried to predict the wicked storm of abuse, fully aware that resistance would only increase the torment.

"Alright, Justice," the murderer said, "Let's get to the point."

Kristoph sat on the coffee table, setting aside an empty teacup in the process. Apollo fixated on it instantly.

_Drugs again? Or…am I already drugged?_

"The last time we spoke, I had left you to ruminate on your last words to Wright. In fact, you had _agreed_ to do so, as per the rules of our game."

The teacup was on the table, but Apollo couldn't see the kitchen knife next to it anymore. Was Kristoph hiding it to use on him? Was his _whole_ tongue going to be cut out as punishment?

"And yet, when the time came…you attempted suicide instead."

No, that'd be too obvious. Knowing Kristoph, he'd have to choose between Trucy and his tongue—

"Justice. I'm speaking to you."

Apollo's gaze whipped back to Kristoph. Kristoph took a deep breath, suddenly looking more exasperated than enraged.

"This simply won't do. I've pushed you too far."

_Wait…what?_

"I knew you'd be difficult to manage, Justice. But I never expected you to go so far as to try to _kill_ yourself." Kristoph said. The criminal shook his head, eyes darkening. "You'd sacrifice yourself for _Wright?_ Is that how pitiful you are?"

Apollo tried to prevent any confusion from showing on his face, all the while deciphering Kristoph's words. The way the man was speaking made it sound like he didn't know Apollo's_ real_ plan—to hurt himself just enough to avoid the conversation with Phoenix.

Instead, Kristoph seemed to have the impression that Apollo had given up on life entirely.

_I can use this._

"Well?"

After a few more moments, Apollo nodded.

"How noble of you." Kristoph scoffed. Apollo disregarded the murderer's derision, instead focusing on the implications. If Kristoph believed he'd tried to kill himself, and had _saved_ him instead, then that meant…

_He isn't going to kill me._

He had to confirm it. He raised a hand and gestured to the gag, tapping it with his finger.

"It's not to silence you, Justice. You and I both know you've done that well enough." Kristoph replied. "It's only to stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, I had to tear one of your shirts to create it."

Despite Kristoph's neutral tone, it was clear that the murderer had gone to great lengths to treat him.

_He _needs_ me._

Some perplexity must have seeped into his expression, because Kristoph looked him straight in the eye before continuing.

"The cut is only on the tip of your tongue. You haven't sliced it off." Kristoph explained. "You should be able to speak again within two days, once it seals."

Two days.

He'd bought himself two days.

_What happens after that, though?_

He raised an eyebrow, trying to signal his question to Kristoph, but the criminal didn't notice.

"I will be keeping a close watch on you in that time…lest you try to rid yourself of it once more." Kristoph said, adjusting his flashing glasses. "You've become far too volatile to leave alone."

_Suicide watch from a sociopath. Nice._ Apollo thought, dry as ever. It was definitely strange—a two-time murderer was going to make sure he didn't kill himself.

"To that end…I will establish new terms for this arrangement."

A sliver of hope sparked somewhere in the back of Apollo's brain. The results of his self-sacrifice were starting to catch up to him. Kristoph's plan had been crippled. He was going to be kept alive. He'd even stolen away a decent bit of time. Even if he spent the next eternity trapped back in that closet, he'd be—

"I will allow you to remain free of restraints for the majority of the next 48 hours."

Apollo's heart stopped.

Kristoph crossed his fingers, blue eyes piercing.

"With specific conditions, of course."


	15. Delectable Demise

Looking into the mirror had been a mistake.

Everything had been going well until then. The faucet running above his freezing fingers. Hot water pooling and pouring over his cupped hands. Swirls of red vanishing down the sink, the griminess and blood both scrubbed off his face.

For a moment, things almost felt…normal.

Freshening up before work had been a habit of his—so much so that just _standing_ in the bathroom made Apollo's mind wander back to the mundane. What had become of his laundry? Had the milk in the fridge spoiled? Oh, god, what about…

_My avocados!_

He'd taken a risk buying them. They were expensive, damn it! Ten dollars for a bag of six?! He'd call it highway robbery, except Trucy's fondness for guacamole couldn't really be counted as a "necessity."

And, impossibly…it made him laugh.

Soft, short, and under his breath, but it was laughter, nonetheless. So stupid. Crazy, even. He was probably the first person to dumb enough to worry about groceries while death prowled, only one room away.

Still…it felt good. And weird, and reckless, and unbelievable…but also, _good._

Then, he looked up.

Someone had stolen his real reflection. A stranger's mask was left in its place, pale and gaunt with an almost _haunted_ gaze.

_Terrifying._

His shaking hands ran through loose, messy hair, brushing back two locks that fell just past his eyes. It was terrifying to trace the dried blood on his lips, the dark bruises on his chin. It was terrifying to run his fingers over the thin scar on his neck, grazing a throat that'd nearly been slit.

It was _terrifying_ to stare into that mirror, into a face that wasn't his, and resist the urge to shatter what he saw.

"Justice. It's time."

_Right. Rule 1. _

Apollo dried his face with a towel and stepped back out into the living room, only to fall under Kristoph's disdainful eye. The murderer glared, glasses flashing.

"Late by ten seconds."

Apollo raised his hands in surrender, slinking towards the coffee table. He'd gotten so caught up in his disheveled appearance that he'd already violated Kristoph's first condition.

_Don't stay out of sight for more than two minutes._

He repeated the rule in his head, hoping it would stick. Getting lost in his thoughts had made it hard to count the seconds out, but he couldn't make the same mistake again.

"Remember our agreement." The murderer warned. Apollo nodded and sat on the floor, an arm's reach from the chair where Kristoph was perched.

Kristoph watched in silence.

It hadn't been long since Kristoph had listed the four conditions for Apollo's freedom. After processing each one, the first thing Apollo had done was sit up, twist his wrists, and bury his face in his hands. It'd been overwhelming, to say the least—relief, dread, and exhilaration had all churned in his mind, paralyzing him in place.

It was only when he realized how dirty his skin felt that he'd been compelled to visit the bathroom sink. He wanted to feel _clean_ again. Seeing his face, though, had only made him realize how sickening he'd become.

Now here he was, sitting in front of a murderer. Helpless. Hopeless.

Disgustingly domesticated.

Within a few seconds, Kristoph broke his gaze and stood up, fireplace poker in hand. Apollo flinched when the criminal stepped past him. For an instant, Kristoph's legs were so close that Apollo could latch on and easily tackle the man to the ground.

Apollo didn't move. Kristoph's grip tightened around the iron bar.

_Rule 2._

They both knew the dance they were doing. Apollo was free to roam unrestrained, as promised—but only as long as he stayed in Kristoph's line of sight. With his apartment being so small and his bedroom being out of bounds, proximity was becoming an issue.

When Kristoph would pace towards Apollo, Apollo would shrink back to another section of the room out of sheer, unadulterated fear. Likewise, when Apollo would rest close to Kristoph, Kristoph would wait a moment or two before wandering just a little farther away.

Apollo wasn't sure if Kristoph was afraid. But the fireplace poker held steadfast in the man's hand indicated, at the very least, distrust.

Apollo had no trouble remembering the rule that went along with Kristoph's weapon choice.

_Violence will be met with swift and ruthless discipline. _

And so, they evaded each other—two circling fish, trapped and gasping for breath in a shallow puddle. Apollo knew they'd run out of air eventually.

Soon, they'd have to collide.

"Hungry, Justice?" Kristoph called. Apollo looked up to see the criminal standing in the kitchen, peering curiously into drawers and shelves. "You must be."

Kristoph was right. A dull ache had permeated his abdomen for the last couple hours, undoubtedly from the emptiness in his stomach. Drug-laced tea didn't make much of a meal, and he assumed the only other thing Kristoph had given him was water.

"Come and take something to eat."

Apollo stood, cautiously drawing closer. As soon as he entered the kitchen, Kristoph passed him by, returning to the armchair.

The dance continued.

_I guess I'll find myself some food, then._

Apollo opened the pantry, re-familiarizing himself with what little stock he had. Bag of sugar. Bag of flour. A case of instant noodles from his college days. One packet of pasta. Grape juice he'd bought on a whim (what _did_ that stuff taste like, anyway?). A half empty jar of store-brand alfredo sauce.

And six. Spoiled. Avocados.

He sighed.

_Pasta it is, then. _

Apollo placed the pasta and the alfredo sauce on the counter, along with a box of salt. It seemed easy, at least. He pushed away some of his self-pity long enough to reach under the kitchen counter and pull out a steel pot. It didn't take long to fill it with water and set it on the stove, but it _was_ going to take a while for the liquid to boil.

"Ah. Cooking, are you?"

A quick glance towards Kristoph revealed the man's sharp, suspicious gaze fixed in his direction. Apollo understood why. The stove's steady burner, the scorching water in the pot…both could be deadly, from a certain perspective.

Apollo only nodded and grabbed the pasta packet, focusing on the label. Being watched felt incredibly uncomfortable. He shook his head and scanned the portioning instructions, trying to gauge how much food to make instead of dwelling on Kristoph's threatening presence.

Truth be told, it'd been a while since he'd cooked solely for himself. Thanks to the Wrights, he'd been trained to whip up three servings of a meal, rather than just one.

He added a pinch of salt to the pot, noticing bubbles beginning to surface. Pasta had been one of the first things he'd made for Trucy and Phoenix—just like this, except with marinara sauce instead.

Nowhere in his job description had the Wrights listed "in-home chef", but he couldn't blame them. After witnessing their nutritional habits firsthand, it would've been cruel if he _didn't _help them out. Besides, Phoenix's first conversation with him about their diet was rather…memorable, to say the least.

"Staying for dinner, kid?" Phoenix had asked him one night, when his tasks had stretched well into the evening. Apollo glanced at the stack of paperwork left to finish before he checked out, torn between remaining polite and taking up the offer.

"I don't know, Mr. Wright. I don't want to intrude."

"Come on, it wouldn't be intruding. It's only ramen." Phoenix urged, plucking the pen from the young attorney's fingers. Apollo paused.

"Only…ramen?"

"Ha…yeah." Phoenix admitted. Apollo's pointed stare remained fixed as the man rubbed the back of his head.

"Ramen for _dinner_, though?"

A nervous laugh escaped Phoenix's lips. "I know, I know…it isn't much, but Trucy and I are used to it."

Apollo raised his eyebrows, standing up from his desk. "Used to it? What does that mean?"

Phoenix adjusted his beanie and looked away. Apollo's eyes flashed.

"Mr. Wright…you can't eat ramen _every day!_"

"We don't—" Phoenix began. The second the ex-attorney started speaking, Apollo's bracelet tightened.

"You _do!_" Apollo pointed at Phoenix, taking on an accusatory tone. "You totally do! And you just lied about it!"

"Ah, look…let me explain." Phoenix said. The man brushed away Apollo's finger, a sheepish smile breaking his relaxed expression. "To put things lightly…I may or may not be a terrible cook."

Apollo took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Phoenix shrugged.

"You can't feed Trucy that." Apollo scolded, striding past Phoenix. "She's a child! She needs actual nutrients!"

"Well, you see, it's—wait. Hey, wait!" Phoenix followed Apollo into the kitchen, awkward as ever. "Hear me out. What if whatever I make is _worse_ than the ramen?"

Apollo almost dropped the saucepan he was retrieving, overcome by a sudden need to smack his forehead. "I can't believe you live like this, sometimes…"

He searched the cabinets, pulling out several ingredients and arranging them on the counter. Phoenix's embarrassment morphed into confusion.

"Um…kid? What are you—"

"Just…just watch, okay?" Apollo said. He rolled up his sleeves, grabbing a spatula from one of the drawers. "It's not that hard."

That night, Trucy's eyes sparkled as she ate something "straight from heaven" for the first time in her life. At first, she thought it was magic. When Phoenix told her the truth, though…she was so exuberant that Apollo worried that her little heart couldn't take it. She skipped around the table with her plate in hand, ignoring Apollo's reminders to sit down before she spilled something.

Phoenix seemed to enjoy the food as well. After Trucy had calmed down and had been sent to bed, Phoenix made some fresh coffee and set a mug down on Apollo's desk. The gesture was accompanied by a soft smile and a sincere "thanks, kid"—so sincere, in fact, that Apollo turned bright red and exclaimed that it was nothing at all. Phoenix rolled his eyes and ruffled Apollo's hair. For once, it felt…nice.

Ever since then, he cooked for the Wrights often. During breaks in his work, he'd craft a quick meal or would teach Phoenix how to make something simple. He didn't mind, really. Seeing Trucy happy, and Mr. Wright content, was more than enough reason for him to keep doing it.

_Ah. The water's boiling._

Apollo peered into the steel pot, minding the escaping steam. No more time for reminiscing. He needed to add the pasta.

He checked the bag. One serving was a fourth of the packet. Two was half. Four was the whole thing.

_A fourth… _

It seemed like so little, all of a sudden. Maybe he should just cook the whole thing? That way he could save some for later.

_If there is a later._

Another valid point. Valid and grim. His gaze drifted back to Kristoph, reality striking him as soon as he met the murderer's steely eyes.

He didn't know how long it'd been since Kristoph had arrived. During that time, he'd barely eaten, as far as he knew. What about Kristoph? Had Kristoph eaten?

No. No, that was stupid. Apollo tore open the pasta packet, trying not to get sucked into it. Why would he feed his own kidnapper? All that time in the closet may have disintegrated his brain cells.

And yet…

Kristoph wasn't too much of a chef, either. During his time at Gavin and co., Apollo would accept deliveries from five-star restaurants and pristine hotels, with each exorbitant package containing one of Kristoph's meals for the day. He wondered why Kristoph never brought in his own food. For a while, he just accepted it as a part of extravagant living.

Once, he'd been brave enough to ask.

"Quite observant of you, Justice." Kristoph had said, a curious look overtaking his peaceful demeanor. "You're getting much better at noticing the finer details."

Apollo opened his mouth, prepared to backtrack, but Kristoph only took off his glasses and continued.

"It's not very dramatic, I'm afraid. I simply never experienced the home-cooking process." Kristoph's smile dropped a fraction, but the man didn't stop. "It has always been this way for me."

"I…I'm sorry, sir." Apollo stammered, guilt weighing on his brain. Kristoph shook his head.

"It's nothing to be concerned about. Now, onto business." Kristoph crossed his fingers, pushing forward one of the parcels. "I understand you've been working adequately for the past few hours. I believe it's time for some refreshment." When Apollo moved to protest, Kristoph wagged a finger at him. "Now, Justice, that's enough. Make this…assignment…your priority for the next hour. Go on."

That's right. Kristoph had fed him, not just once, but _many_ times. Whenever he worked late. Whenever he felt exhausted. Expensive meals, all provided to him without even asking.

A crinkling sound broke his thoughts. Apollo looked down at the pasta bag, realizing that his tense grip was crushing the plastic covering.

After a moment's hesitation, he poured half of the packet into the pot.

_I'm getting fucking Stockholm Syndrome._

Within twenty minutes, the pasta was completely done. He placed a serving on each plate and threw the pot in the sink, a little annoyed that even in this horrible situation, he still somehow had dishes to do. After grabbing two forks and sticking them in the pasta, he breathed, picked them up, and walked towards Kristoph.

"What is this?" Kristoph demanded as soon as he approached, fireplace poker poised to strike. Apollo stood still and held out a plate, regretting his decision already.

It took a few seconds for Kristoph to understand what was going on. "For me?"

_Yes, for you. Just take it, goddamn it._

Apollo nodded, wishing he could voice his real thoughts out loud. After an eternity, Kristoph finally accepted the plate.

"Flattery?" the criminal drawled, eloquent fingers curling around the fork handle. Apollo's heart skipped several beats at the movement. How many films had he seen where a fork was used to stab someone in the hand? What about in the eye? And here he was, just _offering_ Kristoph ideas…

He needed to stop watching all those action movies.

"No, you're cleverer than that." Kristoph said. The murderer waved the fork at him, refusing to touch the food. "Poison, certainly. Wright enjoys irony—surely you would, as well."

And then Apollo noticed it.

_His hand's trembling._

Normally, Apollo would notice those kinds of details _after_ someone had lied. But this…his bracelet hadn't tightened, and he hadn't been hyper-focused, either. Was he imagining things? No, there it was again…an almost imperceptible tremor in the man's wrist.

Despite all warnings in his brain to just walk away, Apollo removed his gag and held his ground. The blood flowed into his mouth once more. Well, that couldn't be helped…he'd have to be quick.

He lifted his own fork. Kristoph's fingers twitched.

"Back away, Justice."

Before the murderer could raise the fireplace poker to slash him, Apollo reached over and snatched forkful of pasta off of Kristoph's plate.

He grimaced. Blood and alfredo didn't make a great combination. It took some willpower to chew and swallow as fast as he did, but doing so appeased the saner part of him that was ready to retreat.

Kristoph stared, speechless. Apollo stood still.

_Not poisoned. See?_

And then, Kristoph started to laugh.

It wasn't his usual laugh—it wasn't restrained, wasn't subdued, wasn't _controlled_, for once. Whatever insanity Kristoph had been suppressing until now seemed to bubble out in wisps of pure mania. Apollo shuddered at the sound, watching the man's knuckles turn white.

"A single bite." Kristoph said, upon catching his breath. The man held up a finger, his eyes crazed. "You believed a _single bite_ would prove something to me. You've become devious."

_What's wrong with that?_ Apollo thought, before realizing the implication. Any household poison he could find probably wouldn't be enough to kill unless it was administered in a larger dose. Rat poison. Stray medications. Even Kristoph had fooled him the same way—taking a sip of the laced tea may have caused the murderer some mild drowsiness, but a whole cup had flung Apollo into some twisted tunnels of his psyche.

And, strangely, it irritated him.

Apollo grabbed Kristoph's plate and yanked it away, narrowing his eyes when a satisfied look appeared on the murderer's face. Everything just _had_ to be a game. The world was full of deception, decency was dead, truth never existed…at least, according to Kristoph.

_God forbid something normal happen in this town._

"Hmm."

That was all he could say. Apollo held out the other plate—the one that was originally his—for Kristoph to take.

Kristoph's smug smirk dropped.

A dangerous tone warped the man's words.

"Justice. What. Are. You. Doing?"

Apollo shrugged. Because honestly, he didn't know either. By all accounts, he should never have done this.

That very mindset seemed to break Kristoph.

"This isn't part of our arrangement."

Apollo agreed.

"If this is your pathetic attempt at escape, your vermin won't be joining you."

Apollo nodded. _Rule 3: Any attempt at escape will result in the cat's death._

Kristoph's eyebrow twitched.

"Why?"

Apollo hesitated.

_I…I really don't know. _

Something genuine must have showed in his expression, because the way Kristoph was looking at him changed. It became almost…pained. Apollo wondered what that was, but it was gone as soon as the man wrenched the other dish from his hands.

"Sit down, Justice."

Apollo did as he was told and sat, cross-legged, in front of Kristoph, balancing his new plate in his lap. He'd definitely been too bold. And too idiotic, considering this was the perfect position to get beaten in. He waited, poised to flee to the other side of the room at any sudden moves.

_Rule 4._

His skin turned to ice, freezing him inside and out.

_Excessive retaliation will result in death._

He held his breath.

_Does he consider this retaliation?_

Apollo agonized over his execution, imagining all the different ways he could die.

After an eon of suffering, Kristoph waved a hand, eyes slanted away.

"Fine. I suppose we can _both_ eat, then."

Apollo lowered his eyes to his plate, not daring to look up any further. He'd gotten lucky. If Kristoph had been in a fouler mood, he probably would've had his skull crushed to dust by now.

The two of them ate in silence—Apollo swallowing blood with each bite, Kristoph gingerly tasting the food out of what seemed to be spite. All the while, Apollo cursed himself.

_Why the hell did I do that? What the hell's wrong with me? Am I going crazy? _

Minutes passed. He finished half of his plate. By then, his brain had gone from berating itself to steadily breaking down.

_Maybe I legitimately have Stockholm Syndrome. Oh, shit. What if I do? Is this PTSD? I'm losing it. I think I'm actually losing—_

"Justice."

Apollo nearly choked on his morsel, his eyes whipping up at the call. Kristoph towered over him, fireplace poker in one hand…and empty plate in the other.

"Very good."

_Is he…thanking me? _

Apollo didn't react, grateful that he was mute just this once. How was he even supposed to respond to that? He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, noting the traces of red seeping onto his skin.

_Blood loss. Definitely the blood loss. That's why. _

Kristoph leaned closer, more menacing than ever. Apollo stopped chewing the pasta, fraught with apprehension.

"Perhaps it's time we learned more about each other, Justice. Considering you seem to appreciate the past."

Apollo swallowed. Cream laced with steel.

_I've gone too far._


	16. Fragmented

Apollo had never been a stranger to silence.

As much as he practiced his Chords of Steel, he could never quite overcome its manifestations. The nervous quiet before a court case. The bits of awkwardness smothering his conversations. The cold stillness in the dead of night, echoing his every thought.

He'd grown up running from it. Locked away deep in his brain remained memories of peaceful Khura'inese hillsides, imbued with one basic lesson: silence was never a good thing.

"Don't make me go back! I wanna stay!"

Dhurke hadn't responded.

"Please, please, _please_ can I stay?"

A shake of the head.

"But _why?_"

And Dhurke had looked down at him, lips pressed and face pained. Not a single word escaped the man's mouth. Still, even as a child, Apollo had understood.

Silence meant fear.

And so he'd tried drowning it out. Latching onto Clay's boisterous escapades all through college, even though they exhausted him. Shouting "gotcha!" and "objection!" in the bathroom every day until his lungs ached. Always busy, always on the move, lest it catch and consume him.

Until he met Kristoph.

Kristoph didn't just live in silence—he _was_ silence. There was an ethereal quality to the way the man worked…soft and light, despite shuffling through stacks and stacks of paperwork every day. Never a noise out of place. Never a sound unaccounted for. Just the two of them in Gavin and co.'s office, words swallowed up by sheer diligence.

And for a while, Apollo had embraced the void.

"This _is_ what you wanted, isn't it?"

Apollo jolted, jerked away from the memory by Kristoph's sudden prompt. The criminal laced his fingers, raising a pointed eyebrow.

Apollo felt the tension escalate with every second he stared, nothingness expanding into a suffocating grasp.

_No. _

Kristoph's silence used to be comforting. It hadn't taken long for Apollo to stop fidgeting and start falling into its calm embrace, even with years of apprehension.

All because of one simple fact.

_He used to trust me. _

Not anymore.

Now, there was something dangerous hidden in Kristoph's restraint. He could sense its sinister hold, could feel it squeezing the life out of his very soul, chest tightening from the growing apprehension. This was the kind of silence where he would say something, _anything,_ just to crawl away.

But he couldn't.

His gag lay on the floor, speckled red and white. He'd abandoned his plate, unable to tolerate the pain with each bite.

And he sat there. Blood in his mouth. Words stolen away.

_I need a break._

Kristoph sighed, dissolving the pressure in an instant. "There is no need for us to have this conversation, Justice. We could simply sit in—"

Apollo shook his head as soon as he guessed what Kristoph was about to say. Kristoph paused, regarding him with intrigue.

"Still lonely, aren't you?"

Apollo didn't respond. Kristoph slipped back onto the armchair.

_Lonely?_

No. No, no, _no._ This was just a tactic to get in his head. Apollo shoved the idea deep into the darker corners of his mind, refusing to rehash a lifetime of isolation.

"It's alright, boy. It's a common fault." Kristoph continued. Apollo watched the man's gaze drift towards the living room window, only to rest on the drawn blinds. "My father had taught me as much."

Apollo blinked.

Where was this _coming_ from?

Apollo tried to seem as neutral as possible, but his mind had already whipped into a whirlwind of confusion. As far as he knew, there was no real reason for Kristoph to divulge his inner demons.

"Don't look so shocked, Justice." Kristoph snapped. "It's unbecoming."

Apollo glanced away, quickly realizing how difficult it was to maintain a static expression.

_Something's off. _

In all the years he'd known Kristoph, not once had the man mentioned anything to do with his past. And if there was one thing Apollo had learned from himself, it was this: _never_ be the first to ask about a man's family.

He'd never asked. Kristoph had never shared.

Except for today.

"It's quite interesting, actually. During my time in solitary, multiple psychologists were sent to my cell to try and unravel me." The criminal cracked a small smile, seeming amused at the memory. "No matter what path they took, they would always end up at my childhood. And, within a few days…they would give up."

Apollo dug his nails into his palms, feeling the curved edges leave crescent indents in his skin. Yes, this was real.

Kristoph was confiding in him.

"You see, Justice," Kristoph continued, "They were always searching for evidence of horrid abuse. Either that, or neglect." Apollo shrank at the last word. Kristoph's eyes flicked towards him. "And I would lie to them."

Apollo's fingers drifted to his wrist. Thank god he had his bracelet with him.

"I would tell them tales of being beaten, being starved…being locked away, even." Kristoph said. "Each version was different. Eventually, the prison records revealed inconsistencies, and their vile experiment was put to an end."

_So then why even bring it up?_ Apollo thought. Kristoph scanned his face, catching his lost expression.

"What's wrong? Weren't you curious?" The criminal asked. Apollo shifted uncomfortably. "Well, no need to worry. I'll tell you everything you'd like…even _without_ your pathetic attempts to gain my sympathy."

And then, it clicked.

_The food._

Kristoph hadn't seen the pasta as an altruistic gesture. To him, it was just another form of manipulation.

"As I was saying," Kristoph carried on, ignoring Apollo's shaking head, "The prison was never able to piece together my childhood." The man cleared his throat, hiding a smirk behind his curled fist. "In reality, I had a fairly standard experience. My father and I were quite close, after all."

Okay, that sounded fake. Apollo grasped his bracelet, preparing to deconstruct Kristoph's hidden trauma.

No response.

Apollo furrowed his brow.

_What the hell? _

Kristoph seemed to have noticed his bewilderment, because the man's grin only grew wider. "I was fortunate. My father was an esteemed prosecutor, yet he never hesitated to involve me in his work." Apollo tugged at his wrist. Still nothing. "He would allow me to help collect evidence, watch during deliberations…sometimes even interrogate witnesses." Kristoph's smug gaze burned into Apollo's core. "Much like Trucy Wright."

Apollo gritted his teeth, narrowly resisting the urge to spit the pooled blood in his mouth at Kristoph's face.

"But make no mistake, Justice—he was properly stern." Kristoph drummed his fingers on the armrest, thinking back. "On the first day of every trial, I was forced to observe each and every movement the defendant made. From that, I was to pinpoint the main weaknesses for my father to exploit the next day." An empty laugh. "Naturally, I became quite adept at it. So much so that one client drew the connection and leapt across the stand to strangle me."

Apollo's eyes widened. Kristoph didn't stop smiling.

"The man had his hands around my throat. He'd threatened to snap my neck if the bailiffs interfered." Kristoph traced the edge of his chin, indicating the man's grip. "My father was furious. He said only one thing to that man." The murderer's eyes gleamed. "'Go ahead.'"

A vile sensation churned in Apollo's gut.

This was wrong.

"Do you know what that man did, Justice?" Kristoph leaned over, looking Apollo right in the eye. "He let me go, and he broke down. Fortunately, he was too weak-willed to choke a child."

Apollo squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to imagine the aftermath. He didn't want to hear this story anymore. This was sick. Mr. Wright would never—

No, not now. Not Mr. Wright now. If he thought about it, his heart would implode.

"It was the most valuable lesson my father taught me." Kristoph said. Apollo looked up to find the man staring at him, seeming relatively unhinged. "Every man is riddled with weaknesses, Justice. Use them to your advantage."

Alright. End of conversation. Apollo began inching away, his hand crawling towards his deserted gag and plate.

"Let's examine you, for instance." Kristoph began. Apollo felt the dread start eating away at his spine. "Your weaknesses make you very useful. It's a shame Wright was blind to your longing to serve."

This was getting too personal.

_I need to get out of— _

"Remember how you used to _crave_ attention?" Kristoph pressed, cutting past Apollo's will to walk away. "Go on. I'm sure you do."

Apollo bit his lip, feeling fresh blood snake down his chin.

So even back then, Kristoph had known.

He thought he'd been so clever, slinking around the office just to be ready for Kristoph's every order. Fetching documents. Brewing coffee. Revising case files. No matter what it was, Apollo always finished off the task as fast as he could.

"Did you need something, Mr. Gavin?"

"I'm here, Mr. Gavin."

"It's done, Mr. Gavin."

Over and over and over and _over_—

Apollo grasped his hair, feeling his breath catch and his fingers tremble. God, he just couldn't keep it together anymore.

He had to forget.

"You used to chase after praise." Kristoph said. The words slipped away from Apollo's grasp, like ice cubes boiling away in a pit of roiling lava.

Forget Kristoph's pleasant smile each time he'd finished a task. Forget the patience with which Kristoph used to guide him.

"And here you are, continuing to chase."

Forget how he longed for affection. How Kristoph gave it to him.

How, for a while…Kristoph had become Dhurke.

_Dhurke abandoned me._

"I know why, Justice."

But Kristoph _hadn't_ been as decent as he'd acted. Within a few months, the man had vanished from Apollo's life…just as he'd begun to open up. Just as he'd begun to trust.

_Kristoph abandoned me._

"From the moment I first met you, I knew."

_Phoenix…_

The argument. The lack of phone calls, texts, _anything_. Kristoph would have mentioned it if Phoenix called, he just knew it. What day was it, anyway? Wasn't Phoenix worried that he hadn't come to work?

Didn't Phoenix care about him?

"You fear loneliness, yet…"

Kristoph stood up, towering over him. Apollo stared at the floor, spiraling deeper and deeper into depression.

"You are perpetually alone."

_Phoenix abandoned me._

Apollo's chest ached.

Phoenix couldn't care for him. Even if the man had before…well, not anymore. There was a poison trapped within him, infecting everyone he clung onto.

And Phoenix had seen it.

That's what I was hiding from him.

After all, the record was clear. His real father fled to heaven. Dhurke threw him to another country. Clay was training to fly planets away. And Kristoph…

_Kristoph. _

Apollo's eyes flicked up.

Kristoph knelt down.

The man reached over. Apollo didn't flinch. Instead, his eyes slipped shut as Kristoph's hands cupped his face, gently lifting his chin upwards.

"No." Apollo whispered. It stung.

Kristoph's fingers drifted to his throat.

"You know it's the truth."

And Apollo couldn't breathe.

Kristoph's grip hadn't constricted. Apollo felt the grasp on his neck, the nails pressed against his skin, the slight tremor of the man's hands, waiting to wrench his breath away from him…but no follow through.

A strange quality warped Kristoph's cold tone.

"Justice. Why…?"

Apollo shoved Kristoph's halfhearted chokehold away and promptly buried his face in his hands.

"I'm just…I…I-I…"

It was useless. He was sobbing too hard to make sense.

A piercing sting sprang to the tip of his tongue.

_Damn me. _

"Go…" Apollo managed to say. His voice strained. "Go away."

Kristoph sighed. "Now, listen—"

"Please."

There it was. The tense silence, space filled with broken gasps for air. No matter how many times Apollo swept away the tears with the back of his hand, they reappeared—a melancholy mix of shame and sheer disappointment. His head felt heavy, all rationality crushed by humiliation.

Kristoph's hand hovered over his head for a moment before retreating backwards. Apollo didn't look up.

At long last, Kristoph spoke.

"I cannot."

Apollo took a shaky breath.

"Get out."

Kristoph didn't respond.

The silence became infuriating.

"Get _out_, Gavin." Apollo repeated. He clenched his teeth, embracing the agonizing pain that came with each word. "I won't…say anything."

Kristoph's tone grew sharp. "Justice…"

"I'm serious."

"That's impossible to believe. You—"

"Get the fuck out of my apartment, Kristoph."

Silence again. Apollo's breaths grew even shallower.

"You're becoming hysterical." Kristoph stated.

Apollo pulled his hair. "No. No, I'm—"

"Where would I go, Justice? Do you expect me to _turn myself in?_"

"No, but—"

"You have no control over this situation." Kristoph snapped. Before Apollo could react, the man grabbed his head and held him in place. "Face this. Face _me_. I am _not_ leaving."

A mix of emotions flooded Apollo's brain. His fingers twitched uncontrollably.

Most of it what he felt was fear. Being terrorized around the clock had ingrained that into him, at least. Then there was sadness—that standard, hopeless feeling he'd been drowning in ever since he'd been exposed to Kristoph's endlessly cunning , he could deal with.

What he couldn't process was the _relief._

"Enough of this." Kristoph said. The man let go of Apollo's face and instead stretched out the young attorney's sleeve, expertly tearing at the seams and unraveling a fresh scrap of cloth. "Don't speak anymore."

Kristoph pressed the rag onto Apollo's chin, wiping away the blood that had seeped onto his face. For once, Apollo didn't protest.

"Compress your tongue." Kristoph ordered, placing the rag in Apollo's palm. It felt coarse and crude and _concrete_ in his hands—a reminder of reality. "You've hurt yourself enough."

Apollo placed it in his mouth, feeling the pain on his tongue finally subside. Kristoph shifted back.

It was quiet.

Apollo put a hand on his chest, breathing deep. It was as if he had clawed his way up from the ocean floor, re-surfacing after months and months of suffocation. He felt his rapid heartbeat start to slow. That was enough to anchor him.

Kristoph rose to his feet and paced a few steps away. The man didn't offer another word.

Apollo closed his eyes. This time…it was a moment of solace.

But even that didn't last long.

A low buzzing sound echoed through the room. Apollo watched Kristoph pull out the source of the vibrations from the inside of his lavender blazer, glaring down at the phone.

Apollo perked up. That was Phoenix. That _had_ to be Phoenix. Who else would call? The man was probably going to ask why he'd missed work or had been completely off the grid for the past few—

Kristoph narrowed his eyes.

"Bruder."

The screen flashed. Apollo craned his neck, managing to catch the name just before Kristoph declined the call.

_Klavier._


	17. Serene Subjugation

"Ah, Herr Forehead. I see I've missed you. Hopefully not overworking again, ja?"

A hollow laugh. It only lasted for a second or two.

"Either way…" Throat clearing. Shuffling in the background. "Once you can see past your paperwork, let me—ach, no. Verdammt."

The shuffling stopped, replaced by a string of barely audible German curses. Then…a long sigh.

"Look, Herr Justice…we are all worried for you. I wanted to make sure you were fine. Or at least, hear you announce it." Another short laugh. This time, it sounded genuine. "Please, call me when you have time."

Distant conversation grew closer, followed by a few faint knocks.

"Ach! My client is here." Fast, frantic footsteps. A few sharp breaths. "I'll be waiting, Forehead. Auf Wiedersehen!"

A single click.

Apollo groaned, burying his face into the seat cushion. Despite the fact that Kristoph had only played the voicemail once, he'd seared every last detail of the crackling audio into his brain…and thrown it on loop. This was probably the ninth or tenth time that he'd repeated the message in his mind.

_It's pointless. Just forget it. _

But he couldn't. And every few moments, he ran through it again.

What else could he do, anyway?

Apollo closed his eyes, once again failing to fall into a tranquil sleep. He'd been curled up on this armchair for a millennium. For god's sake, he'd even shifted around a thousand times until he _finally_ found the perfect position—laying on his side, arms outstretched in front of him, back turned to the rest of the living room.

And still, nothing.

_I can't keep doing this._

"Ah, Herr Forehead—"

_No! Damn it, stop obsessing!_

Apollo tapped his fingers, trying to release some of his nervous energy. It wasn't working.

Maybe he just wasn't doing it right. When was the last time he'd gotten proper rest? What had he done? That could help.

He furrowed his brow. Oh, so _now_ his brain was able to draw a blank. Not before, when he was just begging for a second of peace—

_Whatever. Just think._

Okay, so the last few times he'd woken up…had been after passing out. Did it really count if he'd collapsed? Well…probably not.

Apollo pinched the bridge of his nose. This was stupid. Honestly, he didn't even remember the last time he'd fallen asleep from just exhaustion.

_Wait. Didn't I sleep on the couch? At the Agency?_

That was right. After drifting to sleep over some old records, he'd been carried to the couch and covered with blankets. Phoenix had let him rest for hours and hours, no doubt being the _real_ reason why Apollo had slept so soundly.

And then they'd fought. And Phoenix had forgotten about him, just like that.

Apollo's fingers curled into fists. If he stayed awake any longer, he was going to end up bashing his own head in.

Besides, sleeping would help clear his head. He might wake up feeling fresh, instead of remaining absolutely miserable. And there were health benefits, too!

Apollo scoffed.

_Health benefits. Yeah, right._

Who was he kidding? It's not as if this was his choice. Living with Kristoph wasn't going to magically make him care about preventing dark circles or getting his 8 hours in.

_I just want to escape._

If he was asleep, he wouldn't have to look at Kristoph. Interact with Kristoph. _Think_ about Kristoph. He could wrap himself up in the dream-induced haze, pretending like everything was fine.

He took a deep breath.

_Come on. Please, just sleep. I'm sleeping now. I'm asleep. See?_

His eyes fluttered open, fixing on the cushion in front of him.

He slammed his fist against it, invigorated by frustration.

_Fine. Screw it._

Apollo turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. If this was how it was going to be, he might as well cherish Klavier's last message to him, right? It was definitely more comforting than tossing and turning for eternity.

"Ah, Herr Forehead."

Apollo rolled his eyes. That dumb nickname was never going to go away.

"I see I've missed you."

_He missed me,_ Apollo thought.

Of course, he knew what Klavier really meant. But it felt better to think of it the other way.

"Hopefully not overworking again, ja?"

Apollo's mouth curved into a soft smile. As much as he hated to admit it, Klavier knew him pretty well.

"Either way…once you can see past your paperwork, let me—ach, no. Verdammt."

Even when he lost composure, Klavier still managed to be strangely endearing. Apollo wondered how the man did it. Every time _he_ got flustered, he sounded like a mess. Klavier, on the other hand, gained a charming quality.

_Wish I could ask for advice._

"Look, Herr Justice…we are all worried for you."

Apollo's smile faded.

_Who's "we"? _

Apollo sat up, feeling his muscles strain with the sudden movement. He'd been so fixated on the fact that Klavier had shown concern that he'd nearly missed the deeper implication.

"We" meant it wasn't just Klavier who was worried. "We" meant someone else.

_Trucy, maybe?_

Trucy didn't know what had happened. It seemed to make the most sense that she'd wonder where he'd gone. She was pretty open about her feelings, too…

But Trucy didn't have Klavier's number. The last time they'd spoken, she had to use Apollo's phone to call the man.

He grew uneasy. It was fairly obvious at this point, but he didn't want to admit it.

Who else did Klavier know, besides "him"?

_Ema Skye?_

No, she'd throw a billion snackoos at Klavier before even considering a serious conversation.

_Klavier's band?_

No, they'd broken apart…plus, Apollo didn't even know most of them.

_Prosecutor Edgeworth?_

Definitely not. A chill ran down Apollo's spine just by _imagining_ that man's stern glare.

There was no use denying it. It had to be "him."

_Phoenix. _

Phoenix had coordinated with Klavier like this before. The man had asked Klavier to speak with Apollo. To give a warning about Kristoph.

And if Phoenix was really worried, like Klavier mentioned…

_He's probably tried to contact me. _

Phoenix might not have abandoned him.

He punched the chair cushion again, cringing at his own idiocy. All this time, he'd assumed that Kristoph would have _told_ him about Phoenix's calls. Amidst the waves of suffering he'd been clawing himself through, he'd forgotten.

_I lost the game._

So_ he_ was the one who had cut off Mr. Wright.

Apollo's heart sank. Of course, that'd only ring true if Phoenix had indeed reached out to him after the argument they'd had. If not…

Apollo slid off the armchair, forcing himself to his feet. He had to know what had happened.

He had to call Klavier.

He spat out his gag, tossing it to the side. He wasn't bleeding as much anymore, and besides…he couldn't live another moment being mute. Two days was too long to recover. He needed his voice, _now._

"Kristoph…" he began, facing the rest of the room. He'd expected the man to be slinking in the kitchen or staring out the window, just _waiting_ to pull another nefarious scheme.

The room was empty.

Apollo paused.

_Is this…a dream?_

He bit the inside of his cheek and winced. Nope, he was awake. Pain was never a part of his dreams.

"Now, settle down. Shh."

Apollo whipped towards the source of the voice, finding himself looking towards his bedroom. The door was cracked open, a sliver of light streaming out. He strode towards it and peered inside, still wary.

Kristoph was there.

A spike dug itself into Apollo's stomach, paralyzing him in place.

_What's he doing?_

Kristoph was kneeling by Calico's crate, holding a tin can in his hand. The door to the cage had been opened. Apollo could see Calico backed all the way in the corner, hair-raised and green eyes wide.

Kristoph reached towards the cat. Panic flooded Apollo's system. He started thinking of the best way to take the criminal to the ground, one step away from jumping in and tackling the murderer.

"Come, come. There you are." Kristoph's fingers slipped behind Calico's head, rubbing the back of her ears. Gradually, her muscles began relaxing. "Quite a pretty kitty, aren't you? An elegant beauty."

Apollo froze.

Never in his life did he imagine Kristoph saying the words "pretty kitty" in any context whatsoever.

Calico whipped her tail back and forth, still stressed. Kristoph placed the tin inside the crate, touching the cat's nose and drawing his finger to the can.

"Go on." Calico sniffed the contents of the can. Within seconds, she was nibbling at it, her tongue darting in and out to pick up bits of tuna. "Very good. Eat well."

Only one thought echoed through Apollo's mind.

_A murderer's feeding my cat._

Somehow, saying it to himself made it harder to process.

Kristoph closed the crate, brushing his hands on his blazer. Apollo considered turning right back around and sinking into his armchair forever…or at least, until the world started making sense again.

"Justice. What do you want?"

Apollo jumped when Kristoph's gaze whipped towards him, stern and steely and undeniably intimidating.

He came to a decision. For his next life, he was going to come back as a cat.

"Come in." Kristoph commanded. Apollo opened the door and paced inside, ultimately resolving to stand over an arm's length away from the man. "Now. Explain."

Apollo crossed his arms, hoping to hide his shaking hands.

"I need to talk to Klavier."

A strange look flashed in Kristoph's eyes. The murderer tilted his head, moving closer.

"Your tongue. Where is the cloth?" Kristoph asked. Apollo shrank backwards, trying to maintain distance. "You're going to bleed yourself dry. Let it _heal_, Justice."

"Wait! Wait." Apollo said, holding out a hand. Kristoph stopped his advance. "Look, just…just stay right there. On the other side of that mirror."

Apollo gestured to the side of the room. Kristoph's eyes followed to catch the aforementioned vertical mirror mounted on the wall, along with both their reflections trapped within it. The criminal reached out and traced part of the ebony frame with a single finger, a curious expression on his face.

"Very well." Kristoph conceded, drawing his hand away. "If only to humor you."

In a way, Kristoph was right. Three steps from either side and they'd both be close enough to be back at each other's' throats. Still, the mirror provided _some_ sort of boundary—no matter how small.

"As I was saying," Kristoph continued, "Do you really believe your tongue is alright? You're only exacerbating the wound."

Apollo planted his feet firmly to the ground, standing up straight.

"I don't care if it is. I need to talk to Klavier."

Kristoph sighed. Apollo tried not to think about backing away.

"Fine."

Apollo blinked.

"Fine?" he repeated, unsure if he heard right. Kristoph pulled out the phone and unlocked it, pulling up Klavier's contact in an instant.

"Are you ready?" Kristoph said. The man cast a pointed look towards Apollo, one finger hovering over the "call" button. "You will be on speaker, of course. I would hand it to you, but you told me you'd prefer this…separation."

Kristoph waved the phone at him. Apollo hesitated.

_Um…what?_

It wasn't supposed to be this easy. He was supposed to act defiant and get beaten down for it, not _rewarded._ Kristoph was supposed to insult him and demean him and _destroy_ him with insults and physical abuse, before relenting to Apollo's stubbornness…not give in on the first request.

"Is this a trick?" Apollo blurted out. His fingers grazed his bracelet.

Kristoph cast him a flat look. "_You_ asked _me_ for this, Justice."

"I know, but…" Apollo rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling uncomfortable. "Just tell me. Yes or no. Are you trying to trick me?"

"No, I am not. Does that satisfy you?" Kristoph said, clearly unamused.

Apollo's bracelet didn't react. For some inexplicable reason, that it remained still was incredibly irritating.

_Why is he always telling the truth?_

"Take it. Here."

Kristoph held up the phone, tapping it against the wall.

Apollo finally caved.

"Alright."

He moved closer to Kristoph, reaching towards the device. Instead of handing it straight to him, though, Kristoph grasped his hand and placed it in his palm.

Apollo's fingers wrapped around the phone. He did it. He actually _did it._ Sure, it wasn't as difficult as he'd imagined, but—

Kristoph wasn't letting go.

Apollo tried pulling away. Kristoph's grip remained steadfast, leaving his arm outstretched.

"Do you remember the rules?" Kristoph pressed.

Apollo nodded, his skin crawling under Kristoph's touch.

The murderer didn't let him go. Instead, Apollo watched in horror as Kristoph reached inside his pocket and pulled out the kitchen knife, pressing it against the young attorney's wrist.

"One last reminder, boy." Kristoph stated, his calm tone deeply contrasting his aggressive hold. Apollo's head spun as he noticed his veins bending against the knife's edge. "If you tell my brother_ anything_ related to what is happening here, I will not hesitate to slit you open."

Apollo lost all sensation to his limbs. He fell to his knees as soon as the murderer let him go, pale and numb and covered in cold sweat.

Kristoph pocketed the knife once more, maintaining his relaxed aura. The man stepped in front of the mirror and idly examined his golden hair, weaving in stray strands and tightening the twist.

The phone remained clutched in Apollo's hands.

_He almost ended me._

A little pressure, and it would've been over. One fluid movement. One clean cut.

A reminder that Kristoph was _allowing_ him to do whatever he was doing—not giving in.

"Don't waste time, Justice. Call him." Kristoph said.

Apollo pressed "call" with a trembling finger, turning on speaker as soon as it began ringing.

A cheery voice cut through the harrowing stillness.

"Herr Forehead! Good to hear you're still alive, mein Freund."

Apollo cracked a false smile.

"Hey, Klavier."


	18. One Last Farewell

"Come on, Apollo. Just tell me."

Clay took a long sip of his drink, casting Apollo a pointed look. Apollo tried to take a bite out of his sandwich, but Clay pulled his plate away.

"Why are you like this?" Apollo deadpanned. Clay shrugged. "It was _your_ idea to go out. How is this de-stressing if you keep asking me about work?"

"Okay, _first_ of all…this is the 'De-stress Express.'" Clay held up fake quotations, a spark of pride brightening his expression. Apollo opened his mouth, ready to interject with more reasons why naming a hangout made no sense. "And second, this isn't really about work. Dude…you know a _rock star!_ I want details."

Apollo rolled his eyes, reaching for the basket of fries. Clay tsked at him and pulled it away as well.

"What the—seriously, Clay?"

"No food until you give me something," Clay said. He circled the trays he had gathered with his arms, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Earn your meal, Justice."

Apollo groaned, running a hand down his face. Clay grinned, realizing that he'd won this round.

"He rides a motorcycle," Apollo stated. "There. Happy?"

"Literally everyone knows that," Clay protested. Apollo threw his head back and sighed.

"Why is everyone so _obsessed_ with Klavier Gavin?" Apollo said. Clay leaned forward, sensing the beginning of a rant. "Everywhere I go it's_ Gavin_ this and _Gavin_ that. I go to court and the judge treats him like he's an angel. I go home and he's all over the TV. I go to the fucking _grocery store_ and all of a sudden there's a 20-minute line just because _Klavier Gavin_ wanted to buy tomatoes or something." Apollo made jazz hands at every mention of Klavier's name. Clay snorted on his drink. "His fans are another thing. You know what they call me? _Satan._" Clay burst into a cacophony of coughing and laughter, unable to hold down what he'd been sipping on. Apollo glared at him. "It's not that creative."

Clay was too busy gasping for air to respond. Apollo slammed his hands on the table, growing defensive.

"I get it, okay? I wear red! I have weird hair!" Apollo snapped. "Who cares? Let me live!"

"Oh, god…you really, _really_ hate him."

Clay brushed tears from his eyes, still chuckling. Apollo rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Well…that's not true. I don't hate him," Apollo said. Clay stared at him, incredulous.

"Really?" Clay asked. Apollo nodded. "I can't say you like him much, though."

"I don't!"

"But you don't hate him."

"Right."

Clay shook his head, stealing a few of Apollo's fries. Apollo stretched his hand forward, attempting to reclaim his dinner.

"I need to know more," Clay said, chewing on Apollo's food and smacking him away. Apollo pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why does he annoy you so much? Like, him specifically…not other peoples' reactions to him."

"Look, I…he's just…" Apollo struggled to come up with the right words. "He's too…too cheerful, I guess."

"Okay, okay." Clay feigned scrawling on a notebook, eyes burning with delight. "Obnoxiously happy. That's the first thing, then?"

"You're blowing this out of proportion," Apollo said. He ran a hand through his hair. "He just makes fun of me a lot. It gets on my nerves sometimes."

Clay traced scribbles on his palm, sounding out his words as if he were actually writing. "Too…much…roasting."

Apollo drummed the surface of the table, his brain working faster than his filter. "And he pretends to be 'cool' in court all the time. Who does he think he is? I mean, he's a rock star, but still…"

Clay nodded. "Famous…diva."

Apollo winced. "I don't know if I'd call him a diva…"

"Not a diva? Really? Ugh, fine…just famous, then." Clay amended the invisible statement on his hand, seeming disappointed. "Keep going."

"Hmmm…well, he holds the door open when I'm twenty feet away. Then I have to do that weird jog-run just to go through without things being awkward."

"So, manners…"

"He laughs in the middle of my sentences all the time."

"Likes…laughing…?"

"And he keeps asking me questions. Like, 'oh, Forehead, having a great day?' Or things like 'doing anything fun tonight?' Half of those are in German, of course."

Clay raised his eyebrows. "Um…'Forehead'?"

Apollo's gaze sharpened. "I'm not going to get into that."

"Alright, alright. Whatever." Clay waved a hand at Apollo, as though he were throwing away the list they just made. "You realize this basically describes _me_, right?"

"What? No. No no no." Apollo raised his palms apologetically, beginning to backtrack. "You don't do any of that stuff—"

Clay pursed his lips. "I don't make fun of you?"

"I mean, _most_ of that stuff—"

"What about pretending to be cool? I use my astronaut cred to try and get free drinks _all_ the time." Apollo started to speak, but Clay shut him down. "I _know_ it never works, bro. That's not the point."Apollo fell silent. Clay continued. "I'm a happy guy. I laugh. I ask you how you've been. The only thing I don't do is the door thing…but I'm probably going to start because that's fucking hilarious." Apollo smacked his head. Clay's lips twisted into a smirk. "You don't have any real problems with this guy. Be honest."

Apollo took a deep breath. Clay was right, of course—and he was regretting this conversation already. "No, I don't."

Clay smiled at him, simultaneously soft and radiant. A shining star. "So what's the real reason? Do you know?"

Apollo looked down at his empty hands. "It's…"

"Justice?_ Justice?_ Are you there?"

Apollo jolted. Klavier's voice crackled in from the other side of the line.

He looked down at his hands. The phone was clutched in his fingers.

_Back to reality._

"Y-Yeah, I'm here. Sorry." He pinched his wrist, trying to forget that memory with Clay. He'd gotten so lost in his thoughts that he'd missed what Klavier had been saying all this time. "I…I spaced out."

"Mein Gott. I thought I'd lost you again," Klavier said. Apollo cursed himself. "I was just saying that I was _flattered_ that you even responded."

"Why wouldn't I, Klavier?"

Apollo drew the phone further away from himself, hoping that Klavier wouldn't catch his wavering voice.

He glanced at Kristoph. The man was still staring into the mirror, fixated on his reflection.

_He's the reason for everything. _

"Ja, of course. I am far too charming to resist." Klavier didn't sound as smug today. Apollo wondered why. "Regardless, I wanted to check how you were. As you did for me." Oh. _That_ was why. "I understand we didn't leave off on…the best of terms."

"Yeah…" Apollo cringed when he remembered running away from Klavier, dodging the man's grasp and sprinting down the street like some kind of wild animal. That would certainly be a tough impression to overcome. "But I'm fine. Really, everything's fine."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished they hadn't. He was a terrible liar under pressure—so bad, it was almost cartoonish at times. There were times where he'd imagine a laugh track playing after an unfortunate encounter, knowing that he'd managed to bumble something up in a truly sitcom-esque fashion.

"Ah. I see." Just as he suspected—Klavier wasn't convinced. "You are, are you?"

"Totally," he said, trying to sound confident. His brain scrambled for excuses to back up his claim. "I've just been catching up on sleep."

Klavier sighed. Apollo felt the palms of his hands grow slick from cold sweat, hoping that it'd be good enough. "I understand. You must be exhausted. Schlaf ist gut." Yes! It worked. He'd finally managed to pull off a real—"But I was wondering, Justice…why haven't you responded to Herr Wright's messages? Or Fraulein Trucy's?"

Apollo froze.

_They texted me._

His gaze drifted back towards Kristoph. This time, Kristoph was staring directly back at him. The sentiment was clear.

_You never deserved it._

"A-Ah, I passed out as soon as I got home," Apollo said. He turned his back to Kristoph, refusing to acknowledge the murderer's existence any longer.

"After we got coffee? That was three days ago." Klavier said. Apollo could hear the uneasiness in the man's tone. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes!" Apollo exclaimed. The nervousness churning in his system was making him sound far too enthusiastic—he needed to dial it back. "Er…yes. I've just been…tired." This was going terribly. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to move on. "How are they?"

Luckily, Klavier didn't press the issue further. "The Wrights are well, Justice." Relief flooded Apollo's mind. He caught his breath, finally gifted an instant of peace. "Police officers have been stationed at their home since we last met. Same for me."

"That's good," Apollo said. This time, it really was. "Better to be safe."

"Ja…but…" Klavier's voice trailed off. Silence consumed them as Apollo waited for Klavier to finish his thought. "Why did you decline?"

Apollo furrowed his brow.

"Decline what?"

"I asked the officers about you. I wondered why they hadn't sent police to your home as well." A pause. He could hear Klavier breathing on the other end, steady as ever. "Apparently, you told them not to come."

Apollo braced himself.

"I didn't want to be monitored," he said.

"So you'd risk your own safety?"

"Listen, I…" Apollo stopped himself. Things were getting trickier and trickier to explain. "I thought I was going to spend most of my time at the Agency."

"You _thought?_" Klavier said. After a second of incredulity, the man cleared his throat and continued. "Ach egal. Never mind. You would still be at risk—"

"I just needed a place to be alone. Away from…everybody."

Klavier didn't say anything. Apollo bit his lip, feeling pressured to say more.

"I know it's stupid, but…I didn't want to think about it, Klavier. I just wanted to deal with it myself."

Klavier let out a low hum. Apollo's heart pounded so fiercely that he could hear his pulse rushing through his ears.

"You didn't want the police to remind you of it," Klavier said.

"…yeah," Apollo conceded.

"And now? Do you still want to be alone?"

Apollo drew his arms close to himself, suddenly feeling very small.

_Do I have a choice?_

"I don't think I can go back to the Agency now. I still need some space," Apollo said. It wasn't entirely a lie, but he wished he were saying it for different reasons. "Actually, can you tell Mr. Wright? Like, ASAP? So he doesn't have to worry about me coming into work."

"He wouldn't be concerned about _that_, Forehead…" Klavier mumbled. "Still, I'll pass it along."

Apollo leaned against the wall, the tension in his limbs seeping away. It was reassuring to have some control over the situation—even if it was through someone else. "Thanks, Klavier."

Klavier didn't say anything for a moment. Apollo stared at his screen, wondering if the call had been cut off.

"Um, hello? I don't think I can hear—"

"Apollo. Listen. If you are not comfortable with the Wrights, then…stay with me, at least."

Apollo stood, speechless.

Klavier kept going, each sentence spoken faster than the last.

"I have a spare room. It's no trouble." Klavier started. "There are police here as well, I know, but—"

Apollo's mouth curved into a frown. "Klavier, I—"

"It's too dangerous." The prosecutor pressed on, ignoring Apollo's attempts to stall for more excuses. "I can help you ignore the officers. You'll never have to see them. I'll make sure of it."

"It's just, I really—"

"This is just for now, ja? Surely you can tolerate me for—"

"Look—"

"Please. Don't stay alone."

Klavier breathed deep. Apollo decided to listen.

"I have a terrible feeling," the man said at last. And he sounded so genuinely sincere, so unbelievably _weary_, that Apollo considered giving in anyway.

Behind him, Kristoph coughed.

_Too late for that._

"I'm sorry…" Apollo began. He could almost see Klavier's slumped shoulders, heavy with disappointment. "Everything's fine here. I swear, I'm fine."

"Alright."

As he suspected—the man sounded utterly defeated. Even though there was nothing he could do about it, Apollo still felt the urge to try and fix things somehow. He hated making Klavier feel this way. The only realistic option he had was ending the call, if only to stop Klavier from suffering.

_The worst choice wins._

"Anyway, it was nice talking to—"

"I will visit you, Justice. I can come today."

Apollo's blood turned to ice.

"No."

Klavier must have sensed the sudden hostility, because the prosecutor's tone grew much more hesitant. "Why? Is it the weather? I can—"

"You can't come here," Apollo stated. He wasn't usually this blunt, but circumstances had changed him. "I'm saying no."

"You don't sound well, Apollo," Klavier said. Apollo felt the panic in his system reach critical levels. "Let me—"

"I don't want you here."

A sharp breath.

"What…?"

Klavier's voice had fallen soft. Apollo resisted the urge to bite his tongue again, feeling his brain strain to force the words out of his mouth.

"I don't want to see you anymore, Klavier. Just…stay away from me."

Apollo waited, allowing some time for it to sink in. He knew it was right, of course. Objectively, there was no other way to destroy every path possible than to tear apart whatever relationship they already had.

Then why did it feel so wrong?

Apollo muted his side of the conversation for a moment, taking a minute to just…be. He didn't want Klavier listening in as he banged the side of his head against the wall—

"Justice. Let him come."

Apollo jumped when Kristoph's hand fell on his shoulder, whipping around at the whisper. Kristoph pushed up his glasses and nodded.

"You want me to—?" Apollo said, perplexed beyond belief. Kristoph folded his arms.

"Let him come here," Kristoph repeated, "I will allow it."

The murderer tapped a single finger. A show of restrained impatience.

On the other side of the line, Klavier had finally processed Apollo's cruelty.

"Oh." Klavier said. Raw dejection warped his words into a miserable tone. "I had no idea…"

No, this wasn't right. Even Kristoph agreed. Apollo raced to find ways to take back what he said.

"It's not your fault." Apollo began. That was it—if he mentioned that it was just nervousness, this would all go away.

"Actually, I…I…"

He left off, noticing just how intently Kristoph was focused on the conversation.

_Why say yes to this?_

The realization hit Apollo like an electric spark, shocking him into sanity and burning away his desire to "fix" things.

_The plan. His special plan. _

Apollo knew what it was.

_He's going to torture him…and make me watch. _

"I realized, recently, how much you remind me of your brother," Apollo continued. Disgust coursed through his bones as Kristoph's blazing eyes met his own. "Every time I hear your name. Every time I look at your face. I just see him, everywhere, like he's haunting me." His voice lowered. He kept his gaze locked on Kristoph, pure fury invigorating his defiance. "It's killing me, Klavier."

"I see…"

Klavier had grown almost too quiet to hear.A pang of sorrow shot through Apollo's heart.

_This has to end._

"I have to go. I'm sorry."

"Apollo—"

He hung up.

Kristoph shook his head, lips pressed together in a thin line."You should have listened, Justice."

"Shut up."

Apollo muted any future communication from Klavier and navigated to his texts. It was going to hurt, but he had to see them. He'd been in the dark for too long.

_I need to know about the outside._

The first text was from his landlord. He opened it by instinct, just before realizing that apartment issues were another stressor he didn't need.

**WARNING ALL RESIDENTS: Winter storm moving in this Sunday. City advisory to evacuate building. This street will not be cleared until Thursday. You will be trapped in your apartment. If you have work or other obligations: please consider moving out for a few days!**

Thank god it wasn't about rent. Apollo exited it as fast as he could, barely taking time to muse on the fact that he'd missed a whole weather spectacle.

One text from Clay. He couldn't resist checking it.

**Hey! I'm going to be in town next week. Tell me when you're free to hang!**

Was "never" an option? Apollo briefly considered sending out a string of messages screaming "help"...only to remember that Kristoph would probably disembowel him before Clay would even read them.

Next…Trucy and Phoenix.

The numbers themselves were concerning. Trucy had sent him 200 texts…Phoenix had sent him two, along with one voicemail. Apollo steeled himself, deciding to check Trucy's first.

**Polly! Could you get me some marshmallows? I swear it's for a magic trick. **

**Hmmm…I get it. You're ignoring me. **

**Please, please, pleaseeeeee…**

It started out innocent enough. Apollo scrolled past half a dozen "hellooooo"s, trying to get to the more informative parts.

**It's snowing outside! You saw the storm warning right? Is your signal dead? **

**Well if it's dead I guess you won't be reading this. **

**Just message me once you get this!**

More about the storm. If Kristoph hadn't kept the blinds closed and the room dark, Apollo may have been able to witness it.

So far, he'd learned nothing. But Trucy's messages were getting shorter now. Shorter…and, in a way, sadder.

She moved from sending him memes about the storm to messages with just a question mark. She made short jokes about him ignoring her, ending each with "haha just kidding!" Then even those disappeared, replaced with single letters sent sporadically through the day. "H", "F", "L", "T", "A" …and many more, each as a separate text. A last-ditch effort to get him to check his phone.

Then, he reached the end.

**Why aren't you answering? Daddy won't tell me. **

**Is it because of me? **

**Please answer **

That was it.

Apollo checked the time that the last message had been sent. Sunday, 11:58 PM…way past Trucy's bedtime. He imagined her lying awake, the light of her phone illuminating her troubled face, as she finally accepted that she was never going to receive an answer.

_What day is it? _

Today was Monday. 1:46 AM.

It had just turned Monday.

By now, Trucy was already asleep. She had given up on him almost two hours ago, after all.

A strange thought occurred to him.

_It's really late…why did Klavier pick up? _

Unless…

_He woke up because he saw it was me._

This was too painful. He considered shutting the whole thing down and handing the phone to Kristoph, along with his will to live.

There was still one more person. Apollo sucked in a gulp of air, trying and failing to prepare himself.

Kristoph watched as he tapped on Phoenix's name. The man loomed over him, reading alongside Apollo.

**Hey, kid. Call me when you get this. I need to talk to you. **

That was from Saturday afternoon…one day after they'd fallen out with each other. It made sense why Phoenix would sound casual.

The next message was from Sunday evening.

**Apollo, I know you're a busy guy. Give me a call. Let's talk this out.**

Nothing else.

A tinge of misery tainted Apollo's brain. Unlike Trucy, Phoenix didn't seem worried…at all. Sure, he asked Apollo to contact him, but Apollo had gotten messages like this from him before. Mostly about cases. Sometimes about housework. _Never_ about anything personal.

"Play his message," Kristoph ordered. Apollo wasn't sure if he himself wanted to hear it, but Kristoph's close presence combined with Phoenix's distant impression was making him anxious.

Here it was…from Monday, 1:34 AM. A mere ten minutes ago.

Apollo pressed it.

"Hey, kid. It's me. Sorry it's so late. With the storm, I assumed you weren't going to come in tomorrow. Just wanted to let you know that that's okay."

Apollo pressed his back to the wall, sliding down into a crouch. Of course that's all that Phoenix would say to him. After all…

_I'm not like Trucy. I'm not his—_

"Well, actually…we haven't heard from you in a while. I guess I just got worried," Phoenix admitted. Despite his gloominess, Apollo found it comforting to hear the man's voice again. "And, the truth is…Apollo, I wanted to say sorry."

Apollo's eyes widened.

_Sorry? _

"I think you know why, but I'll say it anyway," Phoenix said. Apollo hung on to the man's every breath. "I never should have doubted you, kid. I thought I was being transparent, but honestly…I was just scared. I didn't know how big of an impact Gavin had on you, and instead of just _telling_ you that like a normal human being, I panicked."

Phoenix sighed. It wasn't like his usual exasperated sighs… nor was it an exhausted one.

_He's regretting it._

"You don't have to tell me whatever secrets you might have. I'll be there to listen if you want," Phoenix continued. "Frankly, it was wrong of me to assume that you were having trouble processing something, just because_ I_ was." Phoenix paused for a second. That wasn't nearly enough time for Apollo to digest those words. "But if you're _actually_ having trouble…and you really _do_ feel like you're about to snap…look, we'll just talk about it. I'll be right here."

A weak laugh. It barely broke the tension, but it was obvious that Phoenix was trying.

"I know I can be an idiot sometimes, Apollo. If you could just trust me this once…or understand, at least…that'd be more than I deserve."

Apollo's fingers were shaking so fiercely that the phone nearly slipped out of his grasp.

"Give it to me," Kristoph demanded. Before Apollo could react, the man leaned over and plucked the device from his hands.

That was all it took for Apollo's mind to swirl into a frenzy.

"Wait. It's not over." Apollo shot to his feet, his mouth moving faster than his mind. "He's not done speaking—"

Between them, snippets of Phoenix's message kept playing.

"Oh, and Apollo? I know you said you're not my—"

"I've had enough of these pathetic platitudes." Kristoph hissed. The man held the phone away when Apollo tried to reach for it, his slender arm stretching up high. "Don't be petulant, Justice—"

Images of decking Kristoph in the face flashed across Apollo's mind. Sure, he'd get stabbed, but perhaps...it would be worth it.

"Give it back." Apollo said. He dropped his hands to his sides, fingers closing into fists.

"You and Trucy, you're both—"

"Spineless." Kristoph interrupted, speaking over Phoenix's audio. "Your threat, that is."

A strange feeling started warping Apollo's rationality. He felt it ebb from deep within his chest, as if whatever had been festering there had just been released.

"You're not this cruel, Kristoph. I know."

Apollo's tone was firm, yet steady. He took a few paces forward.

Phoenix's voice echoed in the brief silence. "…if that hurts you. Still, I just want you to—"

Kristoph shut off the phone. Apollo continued to edge closer to him.

"I'd rather you avoid analyzing me," Kristoph said. "Only fools claim to know each other well."

The murderer backed away at Apollo's advance, each step tracing a path back to the mirror. Apollo knew what that meant. It was a clear sign, an action saying, "you stay in your space, and I'll stay in mine."

Apollo didn't care for space any longer.

"I'll keep our agreement." Apollo stated. "So much as a word, and you can skin me. Just let me hear the end of that message."

He sounded calm, but that was only because he was forcing himself to be. It took every fiber of his being to stop himself from entertaining the visceral thoughts swarming his brain, each more gruesome than the last.

_Reach over and break his fingers. Grab his hair and drag him forward. Dig your nails into his skin, claw out his eyes, rip out his tongue—_

It was sick._ He_ was because those ideas occurred to him...rather, because he was actively considering each one.

"Did you think about what Wright was saying?" Kristoph questioned. When Apollo didn't respond, he scoffed. "Quite a brilliant apology. Begging you for trust so you can remain blind to his faults."

Kristoph's back pressed against the mirror. Apollo stood across from him, waiting.

"For someone like you, such promises are irresistible." The murder held his chin high, waving the phone in the air. "That a person will always be watchful for you. That words will solve everything."

"Stop this, Kristoph." Apollo said. He held out his hand, no longer bothering to hide his frustration. "I don't care about what _you_ think. At least let me listen to the whole thing."

Kristoph's eyes flashed. "Does nothing I say matter to you anymore, Justice?"

"No."

Zero delay in answering _that_ one. Apollo continued staring at Kristoph, gesturing towards the phone.

"The end. I swear." Apollo coaxed.

And Kristoph hesitated.

It was only for a fraction of a second, but the look was unmistakable. Eyes glancing away. Gaze drifted to the device. Said device remaining clasped in the man's hand, stuck in limbo between being kept and being returned.

"Is this truly important to you?" Kristoph asked.

Apollo nodded. "Yes. It is."

Kristoph graced Apollo with a small smile. He held out the phone for the boy to accept, its edge just touching Apollo's fingertips.

Apollo moved to grab it. He couldn't.

In the instant it had taken him to understand Kristoph's change of heart, the man had drawn his arm back and chucked the phone across the room.

Apollo's heart leapt into his lungs. He looked past Kristoph and into the mirror's reflection, watching it hit the adjacent wall and drop straight to the ground. A sharp crack whipped through the air.

He rushed to the area the phone fell. Glass shards lay scattered all along the ground. Deep, fractured lines dug into the phone's screen, and one of its edges was dented. He cradled it in his hands, not caring that it was cutting open his palm.

No matter how many times he pressed the button, it wouldn't turn on.

"_That's_ your farewell to Wright," Kristoph said.

And just like that, Apollo snapped.


	19. Shattered

"Sir. May I…ask you a question?"

Kristoph looked up from his paperwork, placing his pen to rest.

_No. Not this. Not now._

"Have I ever denied your curiosity, Mr. Justice?" The man leaned back in his chair, watching his protégé stumble through an apology. "It's quite alright, no need for that. Go on."

_Forget it. _

Apollo rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it's not really a work thing."

Kristoph's quiet laugh brightened the dreary office atmosphere."At long last. A truly interesting matter."

_Let go._

"How do you…how do you stay so calm?"

_Just let go._

"Generally, I assume?" Kristoph said. Apollo nodded. "Hmm. I would have to say, simply remaining grateful of my existence is—"

_JUST. LET. HIM. GO._

Apollo breathed, barely breaking free of the fog that had fallen over his mind. Was that a real memory? He couldn't tell. His head was swimming and his chest was hurting and his hands…his hands…

_You need to stop,_ a part of him scolded. The part that kept screaming "let go" joined in, forming a chaotic chorus deep in his mind.

_Stop let go stop let go stop let go— _

His hands gripped Kristoph's throat ever tighter, pushing the man further and further into the broken glass.

_I can't._

"What do you mean, you can't?"

Trucy hung upside-down on the couch, her bright brown eyes muddled with confusion. Apollo shrugged.

"I just can't be mad at him. I don't know why."

Trucy tried to tilt her head, but began sliding off the sofa instead. Apollo turned back to face her and nearly gave himself a heart attack trying to catch her in time.

"Thanks, Polly!" Trucy exclaimed, turning herself the right way. Apollo heaved, too winded to properly scold her. "Anyway…maybe it's because you feel betrayed? I mean, everyone does, especially Daddy, but…you worked for him…"

_That's right. He betrayed me. _

More pieces of glass fell to the ground, splintering into tiny shards. He was surprised that the whole mirror hadn't fallen down when he'd slammed Kristoph against it.

_He deserves this._

After all, things wouldn't have escalated like this if the phone had been left intact. The base of Apollo's palm was littered with small cuts from handling the screen, each stinging as he pushed against Kristoph's jugular.

_If he let me speak to Phoenix… _

"You've spoken to Fraulein Vera, Forehead?"

Apollo's brain spun. Here he was, standing outside Courtroom 5, caught by surprise at the topic. "Er…yeah? Why do you ask?"

Klavier brushed back his hair, trying to seem nonchalant. "I was wondering if the good Fraulein would like to come to a concert of mine, perhaps? As an invitation…from a friend."

Apollo narrowed his eyes. "You're not…_interested_ in her, are you?"

Klavier nearly slipped off of the wall he was leaning on, his smooth demeanor morphing into total shock. "What?! Mein Gott! Was zur Hölle? Ich shwöre bei _Gott_—"

_"Okay,_ that's a no." Apollo raised his hands to defend himself from the mouthful of German swears directed his way. "I can ask her, but…"

"Ja?"

"Er…"

Apollo stared at Klavier for a few seconds, before looking away.

It only took a moment for Klavier to understand.

"Ah. I understand." Klavier cast him a reluctant smile. "If I were her…I wouldn't want to see _him_ either."

_He traumatizes people._

Kristoph's nails dug into his wrists, forming white-hot crescent marks on the verge of puncturing. He squeezed harder, ignoring the pain.

_He hurts people._

Zak Graymarye. Drew Misham. Two fathers, taken from their daughters.

Klavier Gavin. A brother, left behind with a face he hates.

Phoenix Wright. A man who'd built his own family, nearly stolen from his life.

_I should destroy him right now._

Apollo watched as Kristoph struggled to breathe, a twisted sense of satisfaction fueling the burning fury powering his muscles. For once, things felt absolutely, perfectly _right._

The court case would be easy, of course. No one would question a two-time murderer being strangled out of self defense. His fingers pressed on Kristoph's windpipe, steadily cutting off the man's oxygen supply.

It would be so simple. He'd describe all the pertinent torture, leave out a few stray details surrounding this part, and then—

"Justice…"

Apollo caught the manic look in Kristoph's eyes and returned it with his own hateful glare.

Kristoph's arms fell to his sides. Apollo wondered if it was almost over.

A flash of silver. Apollo's eyes widened.

_The knife. _

When he had lunged at Kristoph, it'd been out of rage. Pure, unadulterated rage taking over every single cell in his body, giving him only one directive. Get rid of Kristoph Gavin. Nothing else matters.

Other things _did_ matter, as it turned out.

Kristoph raised the knife upwards, pointing it right towards Apollo's face. There was no escape here. If he continued choking the man, he'd get stabbed in the eyes. If he let go, he'd probably get stabbed in 56 other places as well.

_This is it._

His grasp remained steady. Kristoph gasped for air, his other hand managing to loosen Apollo's grip by a fraction.

"Not…you…" Kristoph spat. "Rem…remem…"

Apollo kept his gaze trained on the knife while trying to discern Kristoph's broken words.

_Not you. Remember. _

That was all he was doing, though. Swimming in memories, each drowning him over and over. It was as if he were swallowing water under a burning shower, breath turned to droplets, steam filling his lungs—

"I wanted to ask you something, Mr. Wright."

This one was real. The other memories had felt strange—corrupted, with an almost nightmarish quality to them—but _this_ one he truly knew. He remembered the long shower, trying to bury things away. He remembered the towel sweeping through his hair, Phoenix watching him evade. There it was…the ticking clock, the deep humiliation, the grape juice churning in the wine glass.

Phoenix had asked him if he wanted to talk. After a moment, he'd accepted the offer. This was that conversation.

The one after the Vera Misham trial.

"What makes someone a murderer?"

"Well…that's a tough question, Apollo," Phoenix said, gesturing to the couch. Apollo waited a few seconds before sitting on its edge. "It can be lots of things. Anger, greed…sometimes, even just for attention."

Apollo pulled the towel off his head, feeling damp strands of hair brush against his forehead. "Do you think he did it for attention, then?"

"No." Phoenix shook his head. Luckily, the ex-attorney didn't need context clues to figure out who this was about. "If it weren't for us…he would've gotten away with it. There's no glory in that."

"Oh. Okay."

Apollo glanced away. He'd expected this, and yet…something about it still upset him. Maybe he would _never_ understand. Senseless acts, driven by something too complicated for him to come to peace with—

"There's another reason why people kill," Phoenix interjected. Apollo looked back up.

"What?"

A steely glint sharpened Phoenix's gaze. The man took a long sip of his grape juice and leaned forward, seeming far older than his years.

"Fear."

"Fear?" Apollo repeated. The way Phoenix had said it sent a shiver down his spine.

"Yeah." Phoenix swished the juice, his face pensive. "Think of it this way. Sometimes, to escape truly desperate situations…people dig themselves into a hole." Another swirl of the glass. "They think they'll just climb out later. But things keep getting darker, and they sink lower and lower." Phoenix's hand stilled. The ripples in the juice disappeared. "Eventually, there's nowhere else to dig. So now, to get out of that situation, they have no choice but to seal up that hole and live with that darkness for the rest of their life." A sip. A sigh. "And every day, they pray someone doesn't dig them up."

Apollo shifted uncomfortably. "But then…how do you get out of the hole?"

"How do you get _out_?" Phoenix said, raising an eyebrow. Apollo nodded. "Hmm…once it's sealed, there's nothing much you can do but drag _yourself_ out and confess. Not many murderers take that route, though." Phoenix put a finger to his chin. "In fact, there are some that just keep sealing away that hole with more and more layers."

"No, no. I meant when you're still digging."

Apollo shrank when Phoenix looked him directly in the eye, clearly scanning his face.

After a second, the piercing stare softened.

"Apollo…the only way to _start_ digging is by rejecting the truth," Phoenix said. Apollo tugged his bracelet, scratching the skin on his wrist. "And if you still find yourself there, somehow…you have to reach up and let someone pull you out."

Anxiety rushed through Apollo's system. "But—"

Phoenix turned, placing a hand on Apollo's shoulders. "No matter the situation, someone will always be there. They'll help."

Apollo bit his lip. "What if…what if I don't have some—"

"You do, kid," Phoenix said. And Apollo could see it all—the sadness, the sympathy, the deep _concern_ all woven into Phoenix's expression, accompanied by a small smile. "You do."

_This isn't me._

The knife in Kristoph's hand clattered to the ground.

Apollo pulled himself out of the past, snapping back into focus. Kristoph met him with vehement desperation, continuing to pull at his fingers.

_I've sunk too low._

Apollo stared into the cracked mirror behind Kristoph, finding himself caught in a multitude of parallel reflections. Fractures spread like a sinister web through the glass. He could find a part of himself in each fragment, separated from the whole.

Gritted teeth. Tense muscles. Terrified is what he'd become within a sliver of time.

It was time to reach up.

Kristoph's weakened touch grazed the tips of his fingers, running over them one by one. Apollo's grip loosened, peeling away.

The instant Apollo let go, the man collapsed in a heap on the floor, body convulsing with fits of violent coughing.

"You…" Kristoph wheezed, doubling over. No other words followed.

Apollo looked down at the murderer and the shattered glass. He looked up and saw his own broken reflection. There he was—nothing but a horrified shadow standing above a half-dead man.

It was then that reality hit.

"I almost killed you," Apollo murmured. He watched Kristoph fighting for air, feeling as though his ribcage was collapsing in on itself. "I almost…I…oh, god."

He clapped a hand on his mouth, a surge of nausea turning his stomach inside-out. He'd almost murdered someone. He'd been so close—a few seconds more, and it would've been done.

Kristoph placed a hand against the wall and gradually rose to his feet, his shoulder pressed against it for support. One of the man's hands remained around his neck, no doubt tracing bruises that were just beginning to form.

"I…I…"

There was nothing he could say. Apollo reached out for an instant, recoiling as soon as he touched Kristoph's lavender blazer. Every single particle in his brain was thrown into mayhem.

_I choked him I strangled him he's going to torture me kill me the rules the rules the rules what were the rules I'm dead he has a knife where's the knife I don't know where I don't know why but I have to go I have to get out of here I have to get out of here I—_

"Have to get out of here," Apollo said, his frenzied thoughts slipping out of his mouth.

Kristoph turned at his words. The man's pale face burned itself into Apollo's brain, complete with scarlet scrapes to the temple and purpling contusions above the collarbone.

"Justice," Kristoph croaked. Before he could say anything else, a hacking cough smothered his sentence.

Adrenaline kicked Apollo into high gear.

"I'm getting out of here. I'm sorry. I'm not, I'm—" Apollo's gaze darted around the room for a moment, before settling on the exit. "I'm leaving."

He swung open the bedroom door and promptly slammed it shut, racing into the living room. There was no time. It took him a split second to arrive at the front door, unlatch the lock, and—

A slicing pain struck his fingers as his grasped the handle. He sucked in a breath and pulled away, finding gashes spread along his pinky to index finger. He ignored it and began scrabbling at the back of the handle with his other hand, managing to peel something away after ten precious seconds. There it was—single piece of tape.

Stuck to the tape was the head of a disposable razor, stripped to its core.

The sound of crunching glass echoed from within the bedroom. Apollo tossed the razor to the ground and twisted the handle, trying to pull open the door.

It didn't budge.

More footsteps. A thud. Apollo undid the chain lock and made sure the normal one was also open.

It still didn't move.

The bedroom door began creaking open.

Stuck. Something had to be stuck. Apollo knelt down to inspect the hinge, only to find a bar of soap wedged right in the gap between the door and the floor.

He tried pulling it out. It was too slippery to hold onto, especially with his sweaty hands.

"That's far enough," Kristoph rasped.

Apollo made the mistake of looking back. Kristoph now stood in the center of the living room.

_No no no no no NO— _

No other way but to break down the door. He began kicking the door hinge, hoping it'd give. Pain radiated through his toes at the abuse, but he didn't care if he broke them all as long as he broke free—

With a particularly forceful kick, the soap jammed under the door slid out into the hallway.

"Wait."

A bony hand grabbed the back of his neck. Apollo's heart stopped.

He could hear Kristoph's labored breathing behind him. He could feel the criminal's clammy skin, his vice grip. If he turned around now…that'd be it.

"You can't—" Kristoph began.

Apollo shoved the murderer away and flung open the front door, stumbling into the hallway.

He sprinted to the stairwell, feet barely tapping on each step before flying to the next one. Chipped paint fluttered to the ground as he jumped the last four to reach the first floor, landing directly on his knees.

The pain from that maneuver crippled him. He tried to get up, only to stagger back to the ground from the sheer agony of the initial impact.

"Help! Someone get some _fucking help!_"

No response.

Apollo crawled closer to the first-floor hallway, dragging his body with his arms.

"Call the police!" he cried, "911! Goddamn it, call 911!"

Not a sound.

He paused for a moment, holding back to urge to vomit. In that time, no doors opened. There were no exclamations from within the homes, no hurried whispers, nothing.

A ghostly silence prevailed.

Apollo lifted himself up by the nearest door handle and banged his fist on the entrance. The knocks echoed within the room, but there was nothing else there.

_I'm alone. _

The eerie quiet pressed onto his lungs like a hydraulic press, snuffing out any hope of outside intervention. The building was empty. If he didn't find a way out, Kristoph could crush his skull and hang his skin from any floor.

Light footsteps were descending down the steps.

Apollo pushed himself away from the door and hobbled to the main entrance as fast as he could. As long as he got out of here, he'd be fine. He'd run down the street screaming, everyone would notice something was wrong, and he'd break out of this nightmare at last. He twisted the door handle and pushed.

A crunch. It didn't open all the way. Something heavy was blocking the other side.

He tried again. Another crunch…more prolonged this time. He managed to open it just far enough for one of his eyes to see outside.

A thick sheet of snow lay amassed at the door's wake, crumbling with each shove. Apollo kept trying to swing it open, but each attempt only yielded centimeters more progress than before.

He grasped his hair when he heard Kristoph reach the platform, ready to descend down the final flight of stairs. All the doors were blocked. Why were they all goddamn _blocked?_ Was any of this real? Or was this just a personalized hellscape, built to torture him until he drove himself mad?

But it didn't matter. Hell or not, if Kristoph caught him, he'd be chopped into pieces. He backed up and braced his shoulder, lunging at the door one final time.

It hurt. He felt his bones shudder as he hit it, so sharp that he grabbed his arm close and hissed the second he pulled back. Maybe he dislocated something. Maybe not. He didn't care. What mattered was that the door had been pushed open enough for his body to squeeze through, into the outside world.

"Justice!"

Right behind him. Kristoph was _right behind him._ Apollo dove through the opening and into the snow, clawing his way through until he was completely out of the door's range.

_"Justice!" _

So close. Apollo panicked and pushed himself to his feet, sinking into the snow. It reached above his knees, dense and packed from the gusts of wind sending flurries right in his direction.

_Phoenix. Get to Phoenix. _

He trudged through the snow, feeling the ice bunch up at the bottom of his pants. The sheer cold hit him like pine needles being driven deep into his flesh, stripping away his skin. He was woefully unprepared for the weather, of course, but as this was a monster storm…well, he knew he'd have been screwed either way.

Still, that was fine. As long as he got to Phoenix, this cold would be nothing. Phoenix would pull him out, call the police, and this would all be over.

He squinted. The wind made his eyes dry, and he could barely see in front of him due to the dense snowfall. Plus, it was extremely dark—he had to guess it was at least 2:30am by now, going by the voicemails.

"Stop!" Kristoph shouted. Apollo marveled at how close the apartment was…only to turn around and realize that walking in snow was an incredibly taxing process. "You'll—"

The wind howled so fiercely that it drowned Kristoph out, much to Apollo's relief. He kept moving forward, shivering in the freezing temperatures, praying that he'd find someone that'd help.

A few muffled thumps…all from the direction he came from. Kristoph was trying to open the door, no doubt. He tried to lift his legs and run, but his foot ended up hitting a particularly dense piece of ice, crippling him further.

"Fuck," he muttered. He could feel his nerves beginning to settle…and with that, his pain tolerance. His limbs ached as eternity passed, each step wearing him down until he simply collapsed in the snow.

The faint sensation of snow scraping against his cheek made him wince. The cold was making it very hard to think. Any attempt to muster enough willpower to get back up was numbed by the glacial conditions. All he could do was dig his fists into the snow and crawl a few millimeters every minute.

More time passed. The gaps in his movement grew. He could feel his energy being siphoned away by the frigid temperature, body wracked with uncontrollable shivers each time he tried to go a little farther.

_Did I make it? _

Maybe he had managed to reach them already, and he didn't even know it. Ages had passed since he'd started trawling through this torturous storm. Apollo craned his neck upwards, hoping to find himself at the Agency's doorstep.

He found himself looking down his block, observing everything as he'd seen it from within the apartment building. The amber glow of the streetlights, with one constantly flickering. The mailbox a few meters away, looking no closer. He couldn't even see the nearby deli—something that would have taken him less than ten minutes to get to on an average day.

It was as if he hadn't moved at all.

Apollo buried his face back in the snow. He could no longer feel anything at all. The cold had been driven deep into his bones, transforming them into nothing but deadweights.

He was so tired.

_I'll rest for a bit. _

His eyes fluttered shut. The chilling draft moved more snow over his paralyzed form.

_Just…five minutes._


	20. The Final Ace

"Why do you keep coming back here?"

Apollo looked up from his playing cards. The woman cast him an inquisitive look, which he returned with sheer confusion.

"What does that mean?" he asked. She sighed, straightening out her black blazer and motioning to the space in front of him.

"You can't look at your set. Remember?" she said. She shook her head at Apollo's blank stare, pointing to the two decks on the table. "I have 26 cards. _You_ have 26 cards. We both flip a card at the same time. Does that help?"

"Um…sure." Apollo slipped his fan of cards to the bottom of his set, shuffling them through. "I don't think this is how you play poker, though."

"Who said anything about poker? This is War."

The woman brushed back her deep brown hair, tapping on the table. She nodded.

As if by instinct, Apollo turned over his first card and slammed it face-up on the table. The woman did the same, her fingers moving lightning fast.

They both stared down at the dueling cards, scanning their values in silence.

"Lucky ace, Justice," the woman finally said. She slid both cards into her deck, the ace and the queen disappearing into the neat stack of cards. "You won that one."

"Yeah…" The details were starting to come back to him. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking to her for reassurance. "You win if you lose all your cards, right?"

"Right. See, you know what to do!"

She smiled. Apollo shrugged. They continued playing, placing their cards down perfectly in sync.

Ace and a three. He won.

Ace and a ten. Another victory. He furrowed his brow.

Ace and a seven. Okay, that was four aces. Pretty rare. He glanced at the woman, wondering what her reaction was.

"Wow. You're doing well," she said, calm as ever. Apollo opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. This was obviously just a coincidence. He was getting nervous for no reason.

Another round. Ace and a king.

He blinked.

"That's impossible," he said. He lifted the fifth ace, turning it over in his hands. "I just…there's supposed to be four…"

"Weird," the woman said. Apollo stared at her.

Something was wrong.

"Who are you?" he pressed. She tried to pluck the card from his fingers, but he grasped it tightly. "What's going on?"

She crossed her arms. Apollo didn't break his gaze.

"Come on. You _know_ this," she said. She traced the curved purple pendant on her neck, her eyes growing sharp. "Don't go into shock just yet."

Where had he seen her before? Apollo combed his memories for a hint, wondering when they'd ever—

Wait. That was it.

"We've never met, have we?" Apollo said. She nodded. "Because I've only seen you in recordings."

The woman laughed. "Many times, yes. You watched a lot of my trials…and Phoenix's, of course."

"Mia Fey."

She ran a thumb along her deck, the sound of shuffling cards echoing through the white space surrounding them.

"Took you long enough."

For some reason, Apollo wasn't surprised. He knew that he should be shocked at the revelation, but rather than it being a momentous discovery…it just felt like he'd remembered an old friend.

"So I'm guessing you know what this is, then," Apollo said. Mia drummed her fingers on the table.

"Well, it _was_ a card game," she said, "But it looks like I'm going to have to explain everything to you again."

She snapped her fingers. The cards dissolved into dust.

"It's all in your head, Apollo. We're stuck here."

Apollo watched the dust disintegrate further, fluttering into the nothingness. A pit of dread settled in his gut. "This is—"

"Yeah." She took a sip from the mug that had materialized in her hands, wisps of steam curling out of the hot coffee. "So sorry it had to be this way."

Sheer panic overwhelmed whatever was left of Apollo's sanity.

"I'm _dead?!_" he exclaimed, both hands flying to his head. Mia choked on her drink, launching into a coughing fit and shaking her head profusely.

"What? _No!_" she rasped. She cleared her throat and set the cup down, letting it vanish as well. "Of course you're not dead! How would we be having this conversation?"

"Then…I'm alive?" Apollo asked. Mia took a deep breath.

"Maybe it'd help if you think about it like this," she started. "You hate rollercoasters, right?"

"Er…yeah," Apollo conceded. "Because there's—"

"There's too much screaming, I know," she finished, rolling her eyes. "That's not the point. You know that moment where you're at the very top of a rollercoaster, right before the drop?"

Apollo's stomach twisted. "Yeah."

Her gaze softened. "What do you do, Apollo?"

"I…I close my eyes." He met Mia's sympathetic stare, his hands wringing on the table. "And I try to imagine that someone's…there's someone telling me everything's fine."

Mia reached over and clasped his hands, her expression growing somber.

"Well…this is that moment, Justice."

Apollo fell silent.

"Look, I exaggerated a bit," Mia said, squeezing his shaking fingers. "This is much slower than a rollercoaster. And you—"

"I made all this up?"

Mia hesitated. Apollo looked her dead in the eye.

"Most of it," she admitted. "The table, the playing cards—"

"I made_ you_ up?"

"That's…" Mia glanced away for an instant, before letting him go. "You can decide that, Apollo."

A deep emptiness smothered whatever anxiety had been building in his system. He waited for Mia to continue, but she only watched him in concern.

"I used to play War with Dhurke," he said at last, for no particular reason. He traced circles in the table, leaning closer. "It's the only game he could ever teach me."

Mia's lips curved into a small smile. "You were never the best at cards, huh?"

"Oh, I sucked at them," Apollo confessed. Mia chuckled. "But you probably knew that already."

"Hey. This is _your_ world," Mia said. She pulled another ace out of the air, pressing it into his palm. "Everything we do here, everything we say here…you know it all."

Apollo examined the card, noting the scarlet stain on the edge of the spade.

"Is it really over?" he whispered. He ran his thumb along the drop of blood, trying to suppress all the complex emotions grappling for his attention.

"Not yet," Mia said. At a clap of her hands, the whole table was covered with aces of spades. "There's still time."

He swallowed, staring into the spread of cards. "Is there any way out?"

Mia didn't respond. Apollo placed the bloodied ace in the center of the table, the crimson mark separating it from the rest of the intricate designs.

"You said that I keep coming back," Apollo continued. Mia frowned, clearly uncomfortable.

"It's because you can't stay awake," she clarified. She conjured a file this time, flipping through the pages so fast that they flew into the void. "Every time you collapse again, you end up here."

A spark of hope lodged itself into the hollowness of Apollo's soul. "What if I wake up again, though? And I stay awake?"

"You've said that before," Mia stated. She brushed some of the aces off of the counter. "It's getting harder for you."

"Why?"

Mia tapped her chin. The cards began duplicating on the floor. "If I tell you, you're just going to wake up again."

Apollo shot to his feet, slamming his fists on the table. "Then _tell me!_"

"Oh, dear. You're just like Phoenix."

Mia stood up, shaking her head once again. Apollo pinned her under his fiery gaze, refusing to give up.

"I'll stay awake. I _know_ I will."

"That doesn't _mean_ anything, Justice!" Mia pinched the bridge of her nose, succumbing to frustration. "You'll forget all of this as soon as you leave."

The cards kept piling around their feet. Apollo put a hand on his chest, finding it hard to breathe.

"Please, Miss Fey," he pleaded.

A pained look crossed her face. "Apollo, I—"

"I need to try."

Mia swept back her hair and strode over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"I know you want to, Justice. Really, I do." She bit her lip, contemplating her next words. Some part of him already knew what they were going to be. "But there's a reason you picked me to comfort you."

The pile of aces was so high that it reached past their knees. Suffocation was setting in.

Apollo shifted restlessly. "If I stay, what's going to happen?"

"We'll talk as long as you like," Mia soothed, her voice strong and steady. "Just us."

"Phoenix…what about him?"

Mia raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"And Trucy, and Klavier, and Clay, and…and…" Apollo said, running out of air. He cut his sentence short, trying to get to the point. "What happens out there?"

It was quiet for a few seconds. Mia placed a hand on his cheek, her eyes filled with pity.

"They'd be devastated, Apollo."

That was all he needed.

"Let me try again," he begged. He pulled away from her, wading through the cards until he was back at the table. "I know I might come back, that's fine. We can talk then. But please let me try."

Mia watched as he leaned against the chair, struggling to stand. She closed her eyes.

"Fine."

"Oh, thank god," Apollo gasped, clutching his chest. "Thank you—"

"Then listen."

In a single blink, Mia went from standing a few feet away from him to grasping him by his cerulean tie. She wrenched him closer, her eyes blazing with a determination so powerful that Apollo found himself shrinking under its brilliance.

"I'm only going to tell you one thing," she began, her tone sharpening. Apollo lurched as she dragged him further ahead. "When you wake up, remember to _go back._ Understand?"

"N-not really," he stuttered. "What does that—"

"Go back. Remember that," Mia interrupted. She towered over him, her grip tightening. "Repeat it."

"Go back…" Apollo said weakly. Mia shook his shoulders.

"Come on! _Repeat it!_"

"Go back! Go back! I'll go back!" Apollo cried. Mia let him go, seeming satisfied.

"Alright. We'll see," she said. She lifted one last ace of spades, placing it on his chest. "Don't forget."

Apollo held her wrist, unable to make sense of it. "Miss Fey, I—"

"It's been more than five minutes. You're freezing in the snow."

Apollo's eyes widened.

Holy shit. That was right.

"If you don't get up—"

_I'm going to die._


	21. Tempest's Wake

Apollo's eyes flew open. He trembled from the sudden jolt of dread that struck his system, his nails digging further into the frost.

The pain flooded back in seconds. He felt it all. Each bruise he'd suffered, throbbing with renewed intensity. The scrapes scattered on his body, scorching his skin. He gritted his teeth. It felt like every snowflake was searing away pieces of his flesh, leaving him nothing but a carved shell of a person.

He tried to breathe. It didn't work.

_I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna fucking DIE— _

His head burst out of the snow, finally meeting fresh air. He gasped, instantly wracked with a hacking cough. The chilled winds were too difficult to swallow. His trachea was turning to ice.

"Justice!"

Someone was calling for him. Apollo strained to hear their voice, forcing himself to lift his body up further.

"Justice! _Respond!_"

_Kristoph. _

Apollo groaned, investing every last drop of strength into getting back on his feet. His muscles strained as he pushed himself up and stumbled forward, the edges of his vision turning black. He had to keep going. He had to keep moving forward. He had to—

_Go back. _

No, that was stupid. He batted away the strange thought as soon as it came, focusing on the path ahead of him. If he continued on, he'd lose the murderer in the storm.

_I have to go back._

There it was again. As if in a trance, he turned back to see Kristoph's silhouette peering into the thick snowfall. The man didn't seem to be looking in his direction—no doubt the gales and gusts were obscuring him from Kristoph's vision, just as he could only see the murderer's shadow.

Apollo contemplated dropping to his knees and crawling the rest of the way to the Agency. That way, the criminal wouldn't be able to spot him from the apartment step.

Something about the idea didn't sound right.

_Go back, Apollo. _

An uneasy feeling crushed his desperation to escape. He dwelled on it for no more than a moment before staggering back towards the apartment building, eyes fixed on the entrance light.

He recalled an ace grasped in his hand. The memory flitted by so fast that he had no time to process it.

As soon as he neared the apartment door, Kristoph's sweeping gaze located him. Apollo flinched when the man began striding in his direction, the indiscriminate outline of the criminal morphing into a detailed, vengeful being. His heart beat senselessly at the sight, all his previous fears twisting themselves back into his mind.

Kristoph's imposing figure, ever-nearing, ground terror into his core liked a rusty blade slicing through soft flesh.

"You _idiot,_" Kristoph hissed. Apollo cowered when the man clasped his collar, jerking him forward. "You utterly witless_ husk_ of a man."

Apollo had never seen Kristoph this furious. The criminal's voice quivered with rage, on the brink of breaking into unbridled hysteria.

"I should bury you here," Kristoph spat. Apollo sank under the man's seething glare. "Is _listening_ is beyond your abilities? Perhaps I should cut off your legs to prevent this from happening again."

The murderer drew him closer, eyes burning with wrath. Apollo froze, feeling as though the man had reached within him and ripped away his lungs.

"Would that be a viable solution?" Kristoph questioned. "Tell me."

The man's gaze was relentless. Apollo didn't respond. The image was so horrific that it consumed any words he had left, leaving him speechless.

"_Tell me,_ Justice!"

Kristoph shook him violently, gripping the front of his shirt with such force that Apollo pictured his skin being peeled away next.

"No…no, I…" His voice faltered, then failed. A faint whisper carried the rest. "Oh, god."

He couldn't handle it any longer. His knees gave out and he fell forward, head spinning.

Kristoph swept forward and caught him before he hit the ice.

"Fool," Kristoph muttered. The man draped one of Apollo's arms around his shoulders, looking none too pleased with the arrangement. "Come along."

Step by step, they trudged through the snow. Apollo shuddered and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his teeth from chattering at the cold and the wild anxiety flooding his brain.

When they arrived at the door to the building, Kristoph yanked it open with ease. Apollo shrank. Kristoph's sheer rage had made a laborious task trivial.

"I was trying to warn you," Kristoph snapped, dragging him through the entryway. Piles of snow slipped inside with them, melting into shallow puddles on the floor. "Yet here you are. Minutes from freezing to death."

The man continued to support him as they climbed back up the stairs, each step taking an era to traverse. Apollo shivered, feeling his drenched clothes drip and stick to his skin with every movement. He braced for more insults, guessing that the gradual nature of the climb was sure to frustrate the criminal.

It didn't. Kristoph maintained a surprising level of patience at Apollo's slow speed, even waiting a few extra seconds whenever Apollo needed to catch his breath. No mocking slights. No irritated complaints. Just a steady presence, holding him in place.

At last, they reached the flat. Apollo curled his bloody fingers around the door handle, wincing. Kristoph brushed his hand aside and turned it for him.

"Get in," the man growled. Apollo followed his lead, plodding through the living room until Kristoph set him on the armchair and let him collapse.

His limbs deeply ached. He lay still as Kristoph paced above him, watching the man grow more and more incensed.

"Look at what you've done to yourself."

Apollo didn't need to. He _felt_ it.

"If you hadn't been so reckless, you'd have come up with a better plan."

That was true.

Kristoph sighed. The murderer removed his glasses and set them to the side, his scornful look replaced by something much more…defeated.

"Of course, I understand," the man said, covering his face with a tensed hand. "I understand."

Apollo looked away, resisting the urge to reply.

_How could you?_

Time passed. Apollo ended up staring at the ceiling, drifting somewhere between dreams and reality. Kristoph kept moving around the apartment, completing tasks with diligence of the highest degree.

Scraping sounds from the other room. The glass shards were being cleaned.

A building warmth. The fire had been started again, its vermillion flames flickering.

Soft weight on his body. Apollo found his bedroom blanket draped over himself, full and fluffed.

He curled into it and squeezed his eyes shut. The cold had settled deep in his bones.

"Justice."

It hadn't been long. Apollo dared to look, only to see Kristoph kneeling right next to him.

He sucked in a sharp breath, startled by the sudden proximity. Kristoph held out a palm, reaching towards him.

"Your hand."

Apollo stayed motionless. Kristoph curved his fingers a few times, signaling him to give it over.

"Your _injured_ hand," the man revised. Apollo hesitated, waiting a few precious seconds before extending his right arm forward.

Kristoph grasped his fingers, spreading them out. The blood had long since dried, taking on a darker appearance and making the gashes appear deeper than they actually were.

"It was the razor," Apollo explained. Kristoph lifted a soaked rag and ran it over the wounds, washing away the streaked mess. "On the door handle…"

"Yes," Kristoph said. The cloth turned scarlet. "Quite unfortunate."

The man placed the towel on the ground and picked up a roll of gauze, unraveling it with a certain expertise.

"You're not going to use alcohol?" Apollo asked. Kristoph began winding the gauze around his wrist.

"A common misconception," Kristoph answered. The man twisted the bandage around each of Apollo's fingers, being careful as to not limit their mobility. "Such disinfectants destroy the tissue surrounding the injury. It would only hinder the healing process."

One last tie to hold it all together. Apollo drew his hand back and observed it from all angles, eventually attempting to flex it into a fist.

"Don't do that, Justice," Kristoph cautioned. Apollo had already learnt his lesson. He grimaced at the sharp pain, releasing his grip immediately.

"Right," Apollo agreed. "Thanks."

He'd said it out of instinct, and they both knew it. To his relief, Kristoph didn't bother responding. The man simply turned away from him, tossing the soiled rag into the fire and placing the remaining gauze on the coffee table.

There was a split second, though, that struck out "silence" as a conversational option.

Kristoph's back was turned to him. Embedded in the man's lavender blazer were a few small, glittering slivers of glass. And, on his neck…blackened marks, barely visible, that loomed in the dim light.

Apollo held his breath.

"I nearly killed you."

Kristoph faced him again, arms crossed. His expression was…neutral.

"Yes. And a mere half hour ago, you nearly killed yourself."

The cool, calculative tone with which Kristoph stated it was impossible for Apollo to comprehend.

"Then why didn't you just let me die?" Apollo questioned. An inquisitive gleam shone in the murderer's eyes.

"Is that what you wanted?"

"No. That's not…I was—" Apollo cut himself off, realizing that he was losing his composure. Kristoph stared into the fire. "I'm tired of running in circles."

A challenge. Kristoph knelt down and jabbed the burning logs with the forgotten fireplace poker, sending sparks flying into the air.

"As am I," the man said. His eyes glowed, reflecting the blaze. "We've both become lost."

_Both?_

Suddenly, it all clicked.

"Your plan," Apollo started. Kristoph's gaze flicked towards him, sharp as ever. "It's ruined."

Nothing but the crackle of the fire separated them. Apollo decided to keep going.

"I honestly didn't get it for a while," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the murderer's form. He drew the blanket closer to himself, finally feeling the effects of its warmth. "This whole time, I thought you were using me for information. You drugged me…interrogated me…_threatened_ me…" Apollo pushed past the disturbing memories, moving to his main point. "After figuring out Trucy's school and making me cut off Mr. Wright, that should've been it."

Kristoph was watching him very carefully now. Apollo kept his voice as steady as possible.

"But you saved me. I nearly bit my tongue off, and you didn't let me bleed out." He tapped the side of the armchair, his mind moving a mile a minute. "You blamed it on me breaking our deal, but that wasn't it, was it?"

A pop. One of the logs had burst into embers.

"You were getting nervous. You didn't know why you couldn't finish the job."

Kristoph scoffed.

"That was never my intention, Justice," the man said, folding his arms.

And for the first time in days, Apollo felt his bracelet close in on his wrist.

He smirked.

"Your nails are digging into your suit, Mr. Gavin," he pointed out. Kristoph's gaze remained stern.

"As if that means anything at all." The murderer lifted his chin, still in staunch denial. "I've kept you alive far too long for any common victim. Do you truly believe there's no intention behind it?"

That was a good point. Apollo sat up, recapping all the events that'd happened after he'd tried to sacrifice his voice.

"You gave me two days," Apollo mused aloud. "That wasn't for me to recover. That was for _you_ to get past things and kill me." Kristoph's grip tightened. Apollo saw it all. "And those rules. You were hoping I'd lash out, weren't you? So you'd be forced to end it."

"Then why would I present conditions in the first place?" Kristoph countered. The man's jaw tensed, his tone growing stiff. "Surely you would have reacted sooner if I said nothing."

He might have. If Kristoph had simply set him free, Apollo definitely would have dreamed up escape plan after escape plan, scouring the house for possible outs.

But that wasn't what Kristoph had in mind.

"You wanted me to target you," Apollo said. He raised his wrapped hand, tracing the thin bandages. "Only _one_ of your conditions was about escape. And I wouldn't have been punished for it. You said you'd kill my…"

Apollo trailed off. Worry wormed its way back into his chest.

Kristoph pressed a few fingers to his temple, cutting him off before he could ask.

"I've done nothing to the cat as of yet," the man stated. "Despite the fact that you continually forget its existence."

The jab was warranted, but it still stung. This whole ordeal was making Apollo realize how irresponsible he really was.

"You _knew_ I'd be more willing to bet on my own safety, instead of hurting anyone else," he continued. Calico could wait—he was getting closer. "You set me up. You pushed and pushed and _pushed_ me—"

"Never deliberately—"

"_Yes_, deliberately!" Apollo grasped his bracelet, noticing the man adjust his glasses for the fifth time. "It's what you do!"

"Fine. I concede." Kristoph waved a hand, dismissing Apollo's argument. "Although, I must admit…it was largely for my personal—"

"No."

Apollo's brow furrowed. Kristoph's lips pressed into a thin line.

"It wasn't working for you," Apollo said. "I broke down, and you didn't know what to do. You should've gone for it then, but you just…couldn't." He pushed away the blanket, rolling up his damp sleeves. "Then Klavier called. And you realized something."

He slipped off the armchair, swaying on his feet. Regaining his balance was hard, yet crucial.

"It was the best way to get me to lose it. Take away my only connection to everyone I cared about." Kristoph stood in place, undaunted by his dangerous tone. "You won."

Apollo gestured to the criminal's throat. The bruises stood out against the man's pale skin.

Kristoph's eyes flashed.

"Don't open this discussion, Justice," the murderer warned. Apollo took a few steps closer.

"You had the knife, Gavin. You were so close." He lowered his voice, pressing two gauze-laced fingers into Kristoph's chest. "What happened? I _saw_ you drop it."

Kristoph grabbed his wrist, constricting it just enough for Apollo to feel a twinge of pain. "Considering you had kept me from breathing, I could not maintain my grasp."

"Don't lie."

Apollo scanned the creases in Kristoph's forehead, watching the man's expression morph into a troubled one.

"I should have died out in the storm," he said. "_You_ brought me back."

Kristoph cast him a dark glare. "Regrettably, yes."

"I was never meant to survive this long, right?"

The murderer's grip slipped away. Apollo refused to pull back.

"You kept trying to convince yourself in all sorts of ways," Apollo said, stabbing further into Kristoph's ribs. "That I was still here for information, for torture, for bait…but you already had my phone for that, Kristoph, and you _destroyed_ it!"

He pushed the man back, running a hand through his hair. Revulsion coiled within him at the very action.

"You shattered the one resource you had, just to get to me," Apollo breathed. He forced himself to calm down, suppressing his deep-seated loathing. "With that, you could've lured anyone here."

Kristoph looked down at him, growing solemn. "Instead, I kept you alive."

Apollo waited for the explanation as to _why_, but none came. The statement lingered, heavy in the air.

"This was supposed to be your sick way of gloating," Apollo accused. If Kristoph wasn't going to reveal anything, he might as well unravel the man's original plot. "If you murdered me first, you could throw it in Mr. Wright's face."

No reaction. Apollo expected as much, but irritation still chewed at his brain.

"You made a mistake."

Kristoph remained unfazed.

Apollo raised his voice. "What was the goddamn _point?_ You can't let me go. And you smashed my phone! If you had it, you could've just left after the storm cleared, instead of waiting for Mr. Wright to come here and—"

The wind whistled. Apollo looked towards the window, noticing the flurrying flakes swirling in the squall.

For a second, his heart stopped.

"There's still a few days left," he said. His texts had read that the snow wasn't going to cease until Thursday.

The blizzard raged outside.

All his defiance dropped in an instant. His voice softened, nearly lost amidst the roar of the fireplace.

"What happens when the storm ends?"

Kristoph watched with him, staring into the night.

"I suppose one of us will be waiting for Wright."


	22. A Fatal Misunderstanding

Klavier Gavin couldn't sleep. So, he did what any other sane man would do—get drunk at four in the morning.

It hadn't been a rash decision, of course. He'd waited for a solid few hours in bed before succumbing to the fact that absolutely _nothing_ was going to help him slip back to sleep. Rehearsing nursery rhymes? He couldn't remember any. Counting? He'd reached well over zweihundert. Meditation? Truthfully, only the tabloids believed he did that. There was only so much a man could do after exhausting his options for rest.

He stood up and stretched, watching the moon filter through the gossamer curtains in his room. Then, he slunk to the kitchen, rifling through cabinets until he finally found it—a crystalline glass, and a perfectly sealed bottle of sekt.

It had been a gift. No company in this country sold it—the sparkling wine had to be imported directly from Germany, and even then, the price for shipping was exorbitant. Of course, champagne and prosecco were respectable alternatives, but…special occasions were always made sweeter with a taste from home.

At least, that's what his brother had told him.

"Please, it's nothing. I must congratulate you," Kristoph had said, holding up his palms when Klavier tried to hand back the expensive present. "Consider it customary for a lawyer's first trial."

"You're already treating me to dinner," Klavier protested. Normally, he'd be gracious, but this felt…strange. "You were also the one who warned me about the forgery, as well as the special witness."

"Of course, Klavier. It was simply a matter of justice." Kristoph waved a hand, brushing aside his brother's argument. "But you listened to me. You were vital to the case. Never forget that."

Klavier hadn't forgotten. He'd tried to carve out every other detail of that trial, but Kristoph's words had stuck. He knew, no matter how hard he tried…he'd remember them forever.

A swift pop, and the seal was broken. He poured a generous amount of sekt into his glass and leaned against his kitchen counter.

_This should have been poured down the drain_, Klavier thought, taking a sip. Unfortunately, it tasted exquisite.

What had he even been saving it for? He couldn't remember. Perhaps another court victory, or a record-breaking album sale…no doubt, something idiotic like that. After taking weeks to dispose of all of Kristoph's _other_ gifts, he didn't want to admit that he'd been holding onto this one for something significant.

Klavier downed the glass, grimacing at the slight burn of alcohol. He'd avoided drinking for the past few weeks, but bitter reality made it difficult to resist an escape.

_A toast to Herr Justice,_ he mused, swigging some straight from the bottle. Like most sparkling wine, sekt was easier on the palette…and harder to keep track of.

It took half an hour for him to finish all of it. In that time, he'd created a new guitar solo, eaten a fistful of imported crackers, and flipped through fifty channels of TV static before realizing there was nothing left. And he felt good. In fact…

"I'm fine," Klavier mocked, smirking at his own impression. "Sieh mich an, everyone, I'm_ fine._"

He laughed in the darkness. Then, he closed his eyes. That was enough for one night—he was starting to feel light-headed.

Another half hour passed.

"Hello? Klavier? Are you…is everything okay?"

Herr Wright's voice sounded raspy on the other end of the line. Klavier rolled his eyes and draped his arm over his face, the phone held loosely in his fingers.

"Ahhhh, Wright," Klavier began, drawing out his words, "Did you know…just how_ fine_ I am doing? Did you know? It's a miracle…a gift from Gott…verdammt schön—"

"Oh." A pause. Klavier tapped the empty bottle against the ground, growing impatient. "You realize it's five in the morning, then?"

No, he didn't realize that. He didn't even know how he'd _gotten_ to this point, actually. All he knew was that it'd seemed like a good idea to check some texts before sleeping, and then…

"I have news. Lots…news. Achtung!" Klavier snapped. Before Phoenix could continue, he started his report. "Forehead—I mean, _Justice_…never speaking to me again. He was scared, or…ich weiß nicht."

"Wait…_what?_"

Klavier threw the bottle against the wall, only to grow disappointed when it didn't smash into one million glittering pieces. Apparently, frustration was only glamorous in movies.

"Ach, don't worry, Herr Wright! He's fine," Klavier said. His sarcastic tone began to turn bitter. "Justice is always fine, isn't he? Dummkopf."

"Hold on," Phoenix started. There was no longer any trace of grogginess in the ex-attorney's voice. "You said Justice? As in, _Apollo_ Justice?"

"Is there any other reason wespeak, Herr Wright?"

A pause. Some part of Klavier realized how irritated he sounded, but he couldn't care.

"Klavier…is this about Apollo, or did you want to talk about something?"

The question was oddly comforting. Or rather…Phoenix Wright was. Kristoph's warnings had initially made Klavier wary of the ex-attorney, but the man continued to surprise him.

And the truth was, he _wanted_ to talk. A mass of conflicting feelings had been stirring inside him for months…ever since he watched Kristoph's conviction before his very eyes. He wondered if there was anything he could have done.

Dwelling on the past never got him anywhere.

"He called earlier. Herr Justice," Klavier said, steadying himself. "Far past midnight."

"You _spoke_ to him?" Wright said. It seemed as though every piece of information sparked hundreds of new questions in the man's mind. "Trucy and I have been trying to—"

"Ja. He was…anxious."

That was an understatement. Klavier felt a strange pain in his heart when he thought about how desperate Apollo sounded. He could tell how hard the man was trying to keep it together—the wavering voice and constant deflecting were dead giveaways—but had remained gentle in an effort to coax out the problem.

Perhaps if he'd known _he_ was the issue from the start, he'd have called out Apollo's obvious lies.

"He needs space. A few days away from your Agency," Klavier explained. "And…a lifetime away from me."

There might have been a better way to articulate it, but Klavier's drunken brain had always been blunt. He'd have hung up if Apollo hadn't asked him to inform Herr Wright of the situation.

"Always fulfill favors, Klavier," Kristoph had told him, long ago. The advice sprang, unbidden, to the front of his mind. "Old friends _will_ repay their debts."

He'd thought his brother was just being generous. Kind Kristoph, he'd tease. It seemed harmless at the time—a convoluted way of saying, "treat others the way you want to be treated."

Only later did he realize what Kristoph had meant.

_There is always a price to pay._

How much had Kristoph's support cost him?

On the other end of the line, Wright struggled to process Klavier's words.

"That's…no. Apollo? No, he wouldn't," Phoenix said, half mumbling to himself. Klavier's patience had run out.

"Gottverdammt, Herr Wright, he never wants to see me again!" Klavier exclaimed. He stood up and kicked the emptied bottle of sekt, watching it skitter pitifully across the floor. "He's speaking to no one. Niemand. No. One."

"Klavier, I…" Wright sounded doubtful. Klavier contemplated throwing his phone against the wall, if only to end this conversation. "Are you sure? This is serious."

"Serious? Ach, don't you see?" Klavier scoffed, pulling on his twisted hair. "Forehead is right. I look just like…_him._"

If only the bottle had shattered. He'd have picked up a large shard and cut off his locks right this instant.

Phoenix Wright took a deep breath.

"Look. It's early. Things are tense," the man began. Klavier already hated where this was going. "You sound like you need some rest. How about we talk tomorr—"

"Don't you care for Justice?"

The accusation hung heavy in the air.

Wright's tone grew stern.

"Of course I do," the man replied. His voice was stiff, restrained—entirely defensive. Klavier slammed a hand against the wall.

"Then tell me _why_, Herr Wright. Why is he doing this?"

"He's…" Phoenix hesitated, contemplating the young prosecutor's challenge. Klavier pressed on.

"What happened when you last spoke? Testify."

"I was…well, I accused him of hiding something dark," Wright admitted. "He was upset—which I understand—and he left. To see you, I assume."

"Explain," Klavier demanded. "What did you think he was hiding?"

"Listen, Klavier—"

"You said you cared."

Phoenix paused. Klavier didn't take back his words. It was obvious that the subject was uncomfortable, but if it would help them solve this mystery…was auch immer.

"I was worried that Kristoph had gotten to his head," Phoenix said at last. "And with the jailbreak…it was hard to tell what he was going through."

"I see," Klavier said. So before they'd met, Justice had already fought with Herr Wright. "I tried to speak with him about Kristoph, but he ran away from me as well. And over the phone…he said couldn't bear to see me again because I looked too alike." The prosecutor shuffled through the evidence, trying to find a connection. "Obviously, this is about mein Bruder. But the isolation is an extreme measure."

Phoenix hummed, also mulling over the facts. "This all started when I told him about the prison escape. And as far as we know, Kristoph's still out there."

"Ja, he is. Most likely taking shelter from the storm right now…he was always cautious."

Klavier imagined Kristoph hunched over, shivering in the snow. He cast the thought away.

_There's nothing I can do for him now._

"So Kristoph is out there. Meanwhile, Apollo is shut in at his apartment," Wright concluded. "No police, either."

"He refused them," Klavier added.

"He refused the police?" Phoenix repeated. After Klavier's confirmation, he sounded more troubled. "This isn't looking good."

"Why? Do you understand what's going on?"

Wright sighed. Even though he hadn't spoken to the ex-attorney much, Klavier recognized what that meant.

A terrible realization.

"We need to get ahold of him as fast as we can," Phoenix said. Klavier opened his mouth to keep asking, but was cut off by the man's rapid directions. "Keep calling him. Trucy and I will think of other ways to get in touch. Just keep trying to get through to him."

"Ja. I will, then," Klavier agreed. "But—"

"The snow stops Thursday, right? That's when roads reopen?"

"Ja, Herr Wright."

"That might be too late. Damn it." There was an urgency to Wright's words. Klavier's own stress escalated with each vague statement. "The second they clear everything, we have to drive there and stop him from leaving."

"Is he in danger?"

"I'm not sure," Phoenix said. "But if we don't stop him, he will be."

Klavier picked up the sekt bottle, noting the fine hairline cracks scuffed into the surface. "Herr Wright, I don't under—"

"I think he's going to track down Kristoph."

Klavier's frenzied thoughts froze. "What?"

"He doesn't have guards to keep an eye on him. He's stopped responding to anyone who could help. And this all started as soon as I told him about Kristoph," Wright elaborated. "He's going to face off against your brother."

A sliver of uncertainty wormed its way into Klavier's brain. "I suppose, but…what if Kristoph—"

"The snow's too thick for Kristoph to try anything right now. Besides, you spoke to Apollo, right?"

"Ja. I did." Klavier tried his best to remember Apollo's exact words over the phone, but found he couldn't. That last sentiment had stung so badly that it was all he could latch onto—and based off his own emotions alone, something about it felt...spiteful. "Should we call the police?"

"No," Phoenix said firmly. "If Apollo's really planning something, calling them won't do anything. It might even make things worse."

"Then…what do we do?"

And for a moment, Phoenix's concern overwhelmed all other logic.

"We have to get to his apartment as soon as we can, Klavier. Because if Apollo and Kristoph end up meeting again…they'll kill each other. I just know it."


	23. Empathy

The next day, it rained.

Apollo remained sprawled on the armchair, watching the sunlight filter through the dense clouds. He blinked. His eyes, heavy from hours of insomnia, burned as if a moment's rest would render him blind.

_Pathetic._

He didn't have the strength to deny it.

Muted rays streamed through his window, tinting the walls with gray. The wintery atmosphere was absorbing him. He lay buried in his blankets, ready to accept his tomb, when…a soft, almost imperceptible pitter-patter echoed through the room.

Rain.

He hated it.

The smell of damp ash was smothering. Apollo coughed, feeling his body ache at the slightest movement. It was a shame…he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment the fire had died out. All he recalled was staring into it endlessly, until a single blink brought him back to the empty ceiling.

Coming to terms with death had been harder than he'd thought.

_Come on. Get up._

He couldn't. Everything hurt too much.

_I'm wasting time._

Did it matter? That just sounded like his normal life.

The bedroom door creaked open. Quiet footsteps paced into the living room, circling through the area. Apollo closed his eyes, attempting to feign sleep.

"Justice."

The footsteps stopped. He refused to respond.

"You're awake."

Kristoph had always been sharp. Apollo looked up, his tired eyes meeting the murderer's tranquil stare.

"What do you want, Gavin?"

His tone wasn't hostile. Sure, his voice had been reduced to a croak, but…his words no longer held the bite of resentment. He'd become nothing more than an old dog, weak and awaiting his master's last command.

_Just end it._

Kristoph didn't answer. The man simply turned away, walking towards the window and looking outside.

Apollo took a deep breath.

_He still can't do it._

It was inevitable, of course. Once the snow began melting and the apartment reopened, Kristoph would have to act fast to prepare Apollo's body for Phoenix's arrival.

He'd be dead in just a few days.

What method would the murderer use, anyway? Stabbing? Suffocation? Poison, maybe? Apollo set a few fingers on his chin, thinking the options through. He wondered if he could just request his way to go…although, he doubted Kristoph would care about his wishes.

His limbs were getting stiff just thinking about it. He stretched and sat up, muscles straining from the sudden movement.

_Maybe I should eat something._

With an immense amount of effort, Apollo slipped off the armchair and slunk into the kitchen.

Each step reminded him how drained he'd become. He wandered through the pantry, mind trapped in a haze of discomfort and apathy.

"But I'm not hungry," he muttered aloud. He didn't know why he wanted to hear his voice…or why he'd come here, actually. With so little time left, what was the point of making food anymore?

The rotting avocados glared at him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

They weren't appeased.

Apollo looked away, unable to stomach the curls of nausea roiling in his gut when he looked at the pack. His gaze fell on the case of grape juice tucked away in the corner, still unopened.

He'd always wondered what that stuff tasted like.

"Here. Try some," Phoenix had urged once, handing him the entire carton. Apollo grabbed it out of instinct, but once it was in his grasp…held it as far away from his mouth as possible.

"Um, Mr. Wright," he started, attempting to be polite. Phoenix gave him an expectant nod. "I appreciate it, but…I'm not really thirsty, and besides, I can't just drink this straight out of the—"

"Of course you can, if you finish it," Phoenix interrupted.

Apollo blinked.

"Finish…half a jug of juice?"

Phoenix shrugged. Apollo balked.

"M-Mr. Wright, I can't possibly drink that much—!"

"Oh, Apollo, Apollo, _Apollo_." Phoenix tsked, shaking his head. The man snatched the carton away, a sly grin stretching across his face. "Nothing's impossible."

And that was the day Apollo watched Phoenix Wright, legendary defense attorney, chug half a gallon of grape juice.

He pulled a fresh carton out of the pantry, weighing it in his hand.

"Might as well."

The wine glasses were dusty, but he could still use them for this. Of course, the irony didn't escape him. Grape juice in a wine glass? Phoenix would be so proud.

Apollo poured some out for himself, watching the ripples spread through the purple liquid. This was truly a historic occasion.

He swished it around and took a sip. Far tangier than he imagined, but the sourness was almost…_pleasant._ Another sip. Just the right bite of acidity. He drank some more. Although it certainly had a strong taste, it had a wild snap of flavor and was refreshingly tart and oh my god he actually _liked_ the grape juice.

If only Phoenix were here.

Thinking about it was just going to crush his soul even further. He looked away from the juice, his eyes drifting across the living room.

Kristoph hadn't moved.

An unbidden observation flitted into Apollo's mind.

_He looks sad._

Without the lavender blazer, Kristoph's form seemed much thinner and gaunt than Apollo remembered. The glass embedded in the suit was probably why it was removed…but it was still a strange sight.

Apollo saw the grape juice carton on the counter. The extra wine glass stowed in the cabinet above him. Kristoph's unflinching stare.

He sighed.

_Stockholm syndrome it is._

He finished his drink and poured out another glass, carrying it to the coffee table. He'd just leave it there, of course. Kristoph was smart enough to get the point—certainly smart enough to make his own decisions. Apollo wouldn't have to confront him at all. He could just dive back under the covers on the armchair, trying to pretend like he didn't exist again.

It would've been perfect.

Unfortunately, a spark of recklessness possessed Apollo's better judgement.

"Mr. Gavin."

The murderer turned towards him as he approached, eyes bright with suspicion. Apollo held out the wine glass.

"It's grape juice," he said.

Kristoph tilted his head, looking all the world like a rattlesnake presented with a mouse.

"Wright's favorite."

The observation sounded like an accusation. Apollo didn't budge.

"Weren't you ever curious about what it tasted like?"

Surprise sparked in the man's eyes. After a moment, delicate fingers grazed Apollo's gauze-laced ones and accepted the drink.

"Thank you, Justice."

Apollo watched as Kristoph took a sip. The man's face betrayed nothing of what he thought about it, but the fact that he didn't send it away spoke volumes.

It was a strange arrangement. Apollo knew he should have retreated as soon as Kristoph accepted his gesture, but found himself locked in place. The man was an enigma. Each new layer revealed more and more mysteries that Apollo hadn't dared exploring before.

But now, with the promise of death hanging over him…

_I want to know. _

"Would you like to talk?" Kristoph asked, gaze flicking towards him. Apollo jolted at the sudden prompt.

"Yeah, actually," Apollo admitted. The timing was too perfect. "How did you—"

"Your eyes. You kept following my mouth, as if waiting for something." Kristoph swirled the grape juice, treating it like a lavish wine. "I am nearly as observant as you."

"I know."

Tense silence filled the space between them. After a few more moments, Kristoph gave him a slight nod.

_Go on._

"Your father…taught you, right?" Apollo continued, rubbing the back of his neck. The question had been hanging on the tip of his tongue, but he had been too apprehensive to ask earlier. "How to notice things."

"_Trained_ is a better word," Kristoph corrected. The man traced the raindrops sliding down the window with a single, skeletal finger. "Still, he was an admirable man."

"What was it like?"

Kristoph halted in the middle of chasing a streak of rain, intrigued. "I believe I explained his methods before, Justice."

"Not the training. Your…family life." The clarification only seemed to make Kristoph more quizzical. Apollo attempted to backtrack, trying to avoid the man's scrutinizing eyes. "I mean, I know what families are like. I had one as a kid, you know, so—"

"No need to be ashamed," Kristoph interjected. The man tapped his fingers on the windowpane, blending into the pitter-patter of the rain. "It was quite unremarkable. My mother would care for us and serve supper every night. Klavier was quite young at the time, so I would often help her feed him." A breath. Kristoph's brow twitched. "As for my father…he avoided interacting with us."

"He didn't speak to you?" Apollo asked. He fiddled with his bandages, anxiety building in his system.

"Outside of work, rarely," Kristoph admitted. "As I mentioned, he was quite stern. He kept to himself."

Apollo noticed Kristoph's muscles tense up…but the man wasn't lying. He picked further and further at his hand, his nails digging into the gauze.

"Did you love him?"

"Yes. Very much so."

No hesitation. Kristoph drank the last of the grape juice, setting the glass aside.

Apollo sucked in a breath. He'd accidentally scratched so hard that he'd aggravated one of his wounds. "But you told me that story. Where he let that guy…where he let someone…"

"Nearly strangle me, yes," Kristoph finished calmly.

"So why?"

The man turned towards Apollo, hand outstretched and beckoning. Apollo gingerly placed his fingers in Kristoph's palm.

"I was a child, Justice." A shallow ache. Kristoph inspected the wrapping, fixing whatever Apollo had undone. "At the time, my father had taught me everything I knew."

Apollo froze. No…that wasn't right. Even if it was Kristoph he was talking to, he couldn't stand the fact that—"He…he was just _using_ you!"

Kristoph's eyes flashed.

"Yes. He was."

_Too far. Too far,_ Apollo thought, attempting to pull his hand away. Kristoph's grip snapped shut, holding him in place.

"Consider it one of my faults," the murderer said. "He was not affectionate, nor expressive, but I knew he had pride in me. Perhaps he truly believed I could survive anything."

Kristoph still hadn't let him go. Apollo didn't dare say another word.

"Do you think I'm weak for forgiving him, Justice? The man who almost watched me die?"

"N-No," Apollo stammered. Kristoph stared at him, waiting for more. "It's just…that sounds awful."

_You should have been treated better_, part of him wanted to say.

He couldn't bring himself to.

Kristoph hummed, releasing him at last. Apollo drew his hand back, cradling it close to his chest.

"Make no mistake, Justice. I understood my father, but I would never act like him."

The man's voice was steady. The words, spoken with genuine conviction. And yet…

Apollo doubted it.

How could a murderer be better than an absentee father? Kristoph had killed. No matter how cast aside the criminal had been as a child, he had sunken to the basest depths of human brutality. Neglect simply didn't compare.

Still…that's not what Kristoph had said, had he?

"It never mattered if you ended up better than him. As long as you never _became_ him," Apollo concluded. He thought back, memories twisting under this new perspective. "That's why you were so kind to me."

Kristoph scoffed. "Kind? Hardly. Your injuries should speak to that."

"No, not now. Before." Apollo looked at Kristoph, matching the man's intense gaze. "When you hired me."

He'd hoped for something in response. Perhaps another scoff, a condescending comment…or even reluctant agreement.

What he didn't expect was for Kristoph to turn away entirely.

"You said I craved affection," Apollo pressed on. "You knew it. But you were always patient with me, and supportive, and…and…"

_You never made me feel alone._

It all made sense now.

Apollo reached out and pulled the edge of Kristoph's sleeve, prompting the man to whip back towards him.

"Leave it," Kristoph ordered. Apollo didn't break away.

"You didn't start out cruel," he said. He gripped the criminal's cuff tighter, preventing the man from walking away. "You _liked_ being nice to me."

Kristoph narrowed his eyes, his tone darkening. "Justice—"

"And you saved me more than once," Apollo interrupted. He noticed Kristoph's veins pop along the back of his hand. "You struggled to kill me, but you were always there to revive me."

"_Enough_—"

"It's because I'm just like you, right?"

Kristoph said nothing.

That was more than enough.

"I remind you of when you were a kid," Apollo explained. "You were scared of your father, weren't you? You never knew if he'd leave you for dead."

"That's…" Kristoph began. For a moment, the man seemed ready to say something more…but the moment slipped away, and only the quiet remained.

_He's afraid._

Apollo knew what he had to do.

"Please, Mr. Gavin. Let me help you."


	24. Dead Man's Hand

"Don't."

He had never meant to say it that way. The dark tone. The bitterness dissolving in the cold. Apollo masked his face with a trembling hand, hunching over himself.

God, he should've just stayed alone.

"Come on, man," Clay soothed, continuing to rub his back. "You're not like that."

The bright stars grew blurrier and blurrier. Apollo looked away, ashamed.

"You don't know me."

He shifted away, but Clay's hand followed him. It traced the outline of his spine, light as ever: nimble fingers running down each vertebra, pressing every bone.

"I don't?" Clay challenged. The young man leaned closer. "What about all those things you've mentioned?"

Apollo didn't respond. Clay sighed.

"Your dad's death? Your foster father? Getting _abandoned_?" Apollo flinched at the word. Clay softened his voice. "That's a big part of you…isn't it?"

"It's _not,_" Apollo snapped. He shoved Clay's arm, angrily brushing away the tears streaking down his cheeks. "Stop acting like you know everything."

"But I don't!"

"Then drop it."

Clay hesitated. A myriad of emotions flitted over the young man's face, each fighting for consideration.

Confusion. Irritation. Melancholy. Helplessness. Apollo could read them all.

"Look, you're upset. I get it," Clay eased at last, his countenance settling. It seemed _concern_ had triumphed. "But you need to let me in."

"Let you in? What the hell does that mean?" Apollo scoffed. His gaze sharpened when his friend moved to explain. "Like I said, Clay. Don't push it."

"I'm not _trying_ to push it."

The two stared at each other for a moment, stubborn will locked against stubborn will. Clay's eyes burned with defiance. Apollo's, with desperation.

"I've known you for so long, Apollo," Clay began, refusing to break his gaze. "You've dropped details about this before, but now…now, I can tell how much harder it's getting for you."

Apollo started to feel uneasy. He squirmed, ready to walk away from the conversation.

Clay grabbed his wrist, holding him down.

"You can't ignore it forever," the man stated. Apollo felt his resolve to escape double under Clay's determined grasp. "This isn't normal. Considering what you went through, it's probably some kind of trauma—"

"No, it isn't," Apollo protested. He gritted his teeth, failing to suppress his frustration. "My dad…Dhurke…they didn't _traumatize_ me. They treated me as well as they could, and I—"

"Stop. Don't you dare," Clay warned. The young man covered Apollo's mouth, soundly muffling any guilt-ridden rationalizations. "You're not to blame, and you know it."

A line was crossed.

Apollo's blood boiled. He ripped off Clay's palm, casting a furious glare.

"Shut it, Terran."

Clay ignored him. Instead, Apollo found his friend gripping his shoulders, shaking him back and forth with reckless abandon.

"Don't you see? These sorts of things have long-term effects!" Clay exclaimed, "We're only in college now, but what about when you go to law school? When you get a _job?_ You need to understand what it's doing to you—"

Apollo tensed. "Let go."

Clay didn't listen. "Talk to me, man. You have to tell someone everything—"

"No. Leave it and let go—"

"Just let me help you, Apollo."

Worry. Weariness. Warmth. Apollo saw Clay's feelings morph once more. This time, they had something in common.

A gentleness that said—

"Please, don't be afraid."

And in that instant, Apollo gave in.

In a single, smooth motion, he turned and drove his fist into Clay's face.

_I should've known._

Apollo winced at the memory. He curled in further, the scene still hanging heavy in his mind.

_I should've known how Kristoph would react._

The years he'd spent regretting that day had clearly taught him nothing. He laced his fingers across the back of his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

_I deserved it, anyway_.

Unbidden, the conversation played in his brain again. He dug his nails into his scalp, feeling his hair twist under his grip.

"Please, Mr. Gavin. Let me help you."

A gentle grasp. A genuine gaze. He'd been sincere when he looked at Kristoph, noticing the tinge of uncertainty trapped in the man's eyes.

That sliver of anxiety quickly morphed into contempt.

"_Help_ me?" Kristoph spat. Apollo paused, resisting every urge to step back.

"Just…listen to me, sir."

The criminal wrenched his wrist away, sleeve slipping out of Apollo's grasp. "It seems your overconfidence has turned you _insolent_ as well."

A dangerous tone. Any other moment, Apollo would have been calculating every possible route out of this conversation. But this time…

This time, he wanted _in._

"The psychologists! All the psychologists you saw, at the prison!" Apollo exclaimed. Kristoph's eyebrow twitched. "They had it all wrong. Every time they'd ask you about your childhood, they'd—"

"Become lost. As I stated previously," Kristoph interrupted, his words holding an air of finality. Apollo set his jaw, unfazed.

"They'd always be searching for a motive," he persisted. "A quick reason for the books. But no one…no one thought to help _you_ understand."

Kristoph leaned closer, curious.

"Understand _what,_ Justice?"

Apollo stood still.

"What made you kill someone."

The murderer's eyes gleamed.

"Bravo. Sincerely—bravo," Kristoph said. The man lifted his hands and clapped, seeming all too eager to mock Apollo's breakthrough. "You've figured it all out, have you? Shall I appoint you as my new psychologist? Considering your poor skills as an attorney, perhaps a career change would be for the best—"

"Mr. Gavin—" Apollo began. The criminal cut him off with a bout of sharp laughter."Brilliant of you, to piece things together with a few false tales," Kristoph taunted. "And without Wright to hold your hand, as well."

An uncomfortable feeling settled in Apollo's chest. "I…I know you told me the truth. Everything about your family was true—"

"So you _believe._"

Apollo crossed his arms, running a few fingers over his bracelet. It hadn't gone off once when he'd heard those stories. Yet the second Kristoph insisted it was all an act…

That malevolent smirk had faltered. Just for an instant.

"I can tell, sir. I can always tell."

Kristoph's gaze flashed.

"Of course."

The man drew closer, fingers edging towards Apollo's face. Apollo's skin prickled.

"I can see it now," Kristoph continued. The murderer gently lifted Apollo's chin and studied his expression, scouring for answers. "There's something about you that I simply cannot comprehend…"

The intense gaze made Apollo shrink. He tightened his fists, panic sparking in some deep crevice of his mind.

"Something uncanny," Kristoph finished.

And in one swift movement, the murderer grabbed his face threw him to the side.

The sudden force staggered Apollo. He stumbled and barely regained his balance, knocked a few feet away from the windowsill.

Not good. Apollo looked up, only to find Kristoph's cold fury closing in on him.

"Perhaps it is your pitiful attachment to me," Kristoph hissed. The man strode forward with remarkable haste, each step more aggressive than the last. "Or your disgusting need to remain in control."

Apollo held out a hand, hoping to stop the advance. "I'm just trying to—"

"_Ruin_ things, Justice."

Kristoph reached for his wrist, but Apollo pulled back immediately. He walked backwards, keeping his palms raised in a placating gesture.

"You _need_ me, Gavin," he said. "To help you. You need to let me help—"

"Don't."

Kristoph halted, only an inch away.

Apollo lost the strength to move.

Then, _it_ happened.

Kristoph pulled him forward by the front of his shirt, other hand positioned to strike. Apollo looked away and squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the blow. He should've known, right? He really should've known.

But the beating never came.

After a few seconds, he decided to risk a glance. His heart beat wildly as he swiveled his head towards Kristoph, as if preparing to break out of his body the moment the battering began.

It stopped when he caught a glimpse of Kristoph's look.

The man's piercing glare had lost all its steel. Instead, conflict muddled the criminal's gaze. Kristoph's lowered arm still raced with pulsing veins, but…it had been dropped to his side. Even the grip on Apollo's shirt hung loose, hanging only by a—

"Get out of my sight."

And Kristoph let him go.

Apollo buried his head into his pillow, wishing that he could scream endlessly. Nothing was helping. Not the comfort of his own bed. Not his cat, clawing through her cage. Granted, he'd never expected to be allowed back in his room _alone_, but he didn't think he'd feel so…so…

"Miserable," as Clay had called him, right after he'd broken down over punching his own best friend.

He sighed. He hadn't even _done_ the punching this time.

Surprisingly, no one had.

_It should never have gone that far._

He stretched, slipping off the mattress with his blankets wrapped all around him. The fact that Kristoph wasn't watching him meant close to nothing. After scrambling to his room, he had almost no energy left for _existing_, let alone taking advantage of the situation.

Freedom was worthless.

"What do you think, Calico?" he prompted, kneeling beside the cat's cage. He cast a tired smile when she batted against his fingers. "Isn't it pointless to get out of here?"

Two demanding mews verbalized the feline's staunch disagreement. Apollo laughed under his breath.

"Alright, alright. But I can't let you out just yet." He fiddled with the crate's lock, losing whatever little joy he'd gained. "It's not safe."

With all the physical confrontations, mental abuse, and existential crises that had happened in the span of a few days…he'd rather trade places with her, honestly.

_Quite a pretty kitty, aren't you?_

"Pretty kitty," he muttered. Calico purred.

Apollo stared.

_No way. _

"Pretty kitty," he said again. This time, his cat rubbed her head against the cage door, clearly hoping for some affection.

Apollo stuck his fingers through the bars and rubbed her ears, his mind vaulting into a whole new realm of shock.

_My cat loves a murderer._

He was going to be sick.

He shuddered, turning away from Calico. Of course, it made sense. Kristoph had been the one caring for her lately…or, rather, pampering her. Besides, the man hadn't really hurt the cat. The most he'd done was scare her in the beginning, to keep her away from—

_Wait_.

Apollo stood up, pacing around his room. An idiot. That's what he was. After all those times recounting the confrontation, not once had he considered that…

_Kristoph decided not to hurt me._

In a similar situation with Clay, even _he_ had lost it. Sure, he'd felt guilty and was remorseful right after, but in the end…well, he'd still punched his closest friend.

Kristoph, on the other hand, had resisted.

_Why did I hit Clay, anyway?_

Two reasons. The first—he'd been upset about Clay's insistence to help. What had Clay even _known_ about him, anyway? About his life? About…trauma? Any "help" Clay had tried to offer felt meaningless—after all, Apollo didn't even know what it entailed.

So that's what had gotten him angry in the first place. And the second reason…

_I was in denial._

Clay was right in the end, of course. Even after decking him, Apollo had known he was. Still, the second he'd been backed into a corner, he'd lashed out.

Kristoph hadn't.

_He's not denying it._

On some level, Kristoph must have recognized that Apollo was speaking in the criminal's best interest. In fact, considering how perceptive the man was, it would be strange if he hadn't caught on. And yet, despite his violent nature…he'd held back. Why?

Reason 1. Apollo hadn't bothered defining what "help" meant.

He glanced at the cracked mirror on the other side of the room, shivering. Kristoph had been right. It'd be stupid of him to demand stories from the man all day long, in a feeble attempt to conduct pseudo-psychotherapy. A law degree didn't qualify him to unravel someone's deep-rooted trauma—especially when he hadn't even dealt with his own.

He could only do what he knew.

_I can change his perspective._

Courtroom drama had given him his fair share of grief. In the end, though, it had also gifted him valuable qualities: persistence, an eye for perjury, and…persuasion.

_I'll convince him his father was wrong._

An indifference to murder wasn't a natural thing. It was something that had to be bred—or trained for, in Kristoph's case. No matter how much the man insisted that his father had treated him well, that's where he'd learned it all.

And, if he managed to get that far…

_I can make him realize what he's done._

Apollo bit his lip, pacing faster and faster. That would be the toughest part. Kristoph had never known what it was like to value a life without conditions. Every person the man had interacted with had been played as a pawn—a rusty cog, only to be disposed of when time ran out.

Even now, the days were slipping away.

_What can I say?_

If there was one thing to remember in this situation, it was that Kristoph had the upper hand. After all, Apollo wasn't the one in control. One wrong move could still cost his existence.

_He could just kill me if he thinks I'm too—_

A crunch.

Apollo jumped, his foot retracting the second he sensed he was stepping on something fragile. All that walking back and forth had made him lose his place. He knelt down, inspecting what he had just crushed.

It was his cell phone.

Spidery cracks spread along the chipped screen, fragmenting his shocked expression. Gingerly, he lifted it up, minding the tiny glass fragments sparkling on its surface. He'd thought Kristoph had gotten rid of it already. It was a surprise to find it lying here, albeit broken beyond repair.

Apollo ran his fingers along the edge, cursing himself. This was what had almost shattered him. He aimlessly pressed his thumb against the home button, wondering whether he could ask Kristoph to toss it in the fire.

The device flickered on.

Multicolored lines stretched and spazzed across the display, glitching his list of notifications. Apollo froze.

It was working.

He blinked once or twice, watching the phone flash a series of white bars between the bright texts.

It. Was. _Working._

He shot to his feet, trying to make out whatever was on the screen. First thing's first, he had to call the police. Or text them, in case Kristoph was listening in. He'd hide in his closet until they arrived, only crawling out once he heard them break down the door.

Or maybe he should contact Phoenix. It'd been days…the man _had_ to be worried. If anyone would know what to do, it would be Phoenix Wright, for sure. Besides, he could finally say how _sorry_ he was about everything, how he never meant what he'd said and…and…

Klavier had already messaged him.

**Justice please don't go out. I'm begging you stay inside**

Strange. He hadn't expected Klavier to reach out after their last encounter, never mind with such a frantic tone…

**Stay there, don't leave. Herr Wright and I will help you, please believe us, don't go**

Apollo held his breath.

Phoenix and Klavier were trying to help him.

_They know. God, they've figured it out and they're gonna get me out of here and—_

**DON'T LEAVE YOUR APARTMENT.**

All-caps. It was an order.

They had planned something.

He tried to scroll further, but the phone's screen glowed a blinding white. Then, without warning…it finally died.

Adrenaline coursed through Apollo's system.

_They're going to save me._

His hands shook, fingers twitching on the inky screen.

_I'm going to LIVE._

Apollo placed the device back on the ground, being extremely careful to leave it exactly as he found it. If Kristoph found out, he'd be a goner. All he had to do was lock himself in this room until they got him out, and he'd be free at last.

_Free at last…_

For some reason, the idea started to depress him.

Moments ago, escape seemed pointless. But now…now, he wondered. What would it be like when he got out? Would Phoenix forgive him? Would_ Klavier?_ And what about all the police questioning? The inevitable trial? Kristoph being hauled to prison again, right in front of his eyes?

Would Kristoph resent him?

He sat on his bed, feeling the weight of the world press down on his shoulders. He'd resolved to help the man, not abandon him. Besides, with Phoenix and Klavier arranging to set him free, didn't he have some ground now? If he played it safe, could he—?

No, no. Out of all the things he could be thinking, he knew he shouldn't be worry about that. _He_ was the one who had suffered. He didn't deserve another shred of pain.

But would he really be satisfied being the victim in this case?

_I've always been the ace. _

Apollo took a deep breath.

After one last moment of peace, he opened the door and entered the living room.

The minute he stepped out, Kristoph's eyes flicked towards him. The man was tending to a smaller fire this time. The last of the logs crumbled under the same old iron poker, each piece of wood turning ashen with a few delicate prods.

"Speak," Kristoph commanded. The icy tone, accompanied by the unflinching gaze, stopped Apollo in his tracks.

Still, he stared back.

"I want to play the game."

"_What?_"

The murderer turned away from the growing flames, dragging the poker out of the glowing embers. Apollo crossed his arms.

"Let's play the game."

Bitterness warped Kristoph's face. The criminal tossed the iron bar aside, striding closer to him.

"And why should I agree, Justice?" Kristoph seethed. "I've taken everything from you. You have nothing to give."

"What about my life?"

The man halted, casting him an incredulous look.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Apollo drummed his fingers.

"If you win, I'll drink your drug-laced tea on Thursday. This time…a lethal dose." Kristoph furrowed his brow, opening his mouth. Apollo held up a hand and continued. "All on my own. You wouldn't have to think about ending me anymore—I'd do it myself."

Silence. Apollo brushed back his hair, feeling pushed to explain further.

"You know how drugs work, Mr. Gavin. I'd be lucky if I didn't die, but even if I lived, I'd be messed up for the rest of my—"

"I know," Kristoph snapped. The man seemed just about ready to finish the job himself, but didn't protest. "And if I fail?"

Apollo paused. Kristoph glared at him, equal parts impatient and intrigued.

"Well, Justice? What do _you_ hope to gain?"

Apollo sighed, closing his eyes.

"Your trust, sir. I'd just like you to trust me."

_A/N: The "dead man's hand" is a two-pair poker hand consisting of black aces and black eights. These cards were reportedly held by an Old West gunslinger, Wild Bill, when he was murdered while playing a game. _


	25. A Master's Legacy

"Very well."

It only took two seconds for Kristoph to agree.

One moment to weigh the risks. The other, to recognize the true reward.

_Two seconds for a death wish._

Apollo banished the thought, feeling his chest constrict. Of course, he wasn't _really_ going to die. With Phoenix and Klavier plotting something together, he was bound to escape long before he glanced at a single drop of poison.

Everything would be fine.

_Then why can't I breathe?_

"A-Alright," Apollo stammered. It wasn't anxiety this time. He knew the game was a trick—hell, he _expected_ to lose. Kristoph's manipulation was an art in itself, and he stood no match against a skilled master.

No. It was something else.

"Take a seat," Kristoph ordered. Apollo jolted at the sudden prompt, fixating on Kristoph's stern gaze.

Something had changed.

For the first time in ages, he decided to truly _observe_ Kristoph. He slipped into the armchair. Kristoph paced in front of the flames. There was a simple grace to the way the man moved—each step elegant, each pause poised.

Fearful glances in the past had convinced Apollo that Kristoph was always relaxed. Yet now, watching without terror…every motion seemed imbued with a strict purpose.

There was an aching stiffness in Kristoph's bones. A hesitance that reflected his own.

"You look tense, Mr. Gavin."

A brief pause. Apollo laced his fingers together, letting the familiar phrase hang above them.

Kristoph's eyes grew sharp.

"I'm fine, Justice," the man said. The bitter reminiscence was not lost on him. "Begin your questioning."

As usual, Kristoph offered him the first move. Common courtesy? Apollo doubted it. The way the man stopped in his tracks told Apollo something new.

_He wants to dissect my point-of-view._

Establishing the pace of the discussion put Apollo at a disadvantage. Rather than revealing his true concerns, Kristoph could simply adapt to whatever line of questioning Apollo decided to pursue. That was the mistake he'd made the last time they played, Apollo realized—he'd let Kristoph exploit his insecurities, rather than pressing the man's original thoughts.

Without Kristoph's perspective, he could never explain why.

_Why did you murder them?_

"Do you think that some people deserve to die?"

Kristoph raised his eyebrows.

"An unusual angle to choose. I suspected you had more…detailed inquiries." The man shook his head, brushing away mild surprise. "Yet you begin with the most obvious—"

"Do you?" Apollo repeated. He refused to get sidetracked this time.

"Of course."

Soft laughter. A sweep of the golden hair. Tone so careless that it cut through the tense evening air, words prickling against Apollo's ears.

"Learn this, Justice," Kristoph continued, "Humanity is a festering weed, and we are all its knotted roots. We struggle to breathe, to grow, to blossom. Naturally, the weak deserve to be pruned away." A dark look soured the man's countenance. "Take that anxious, inane girl, for instance."

Apollo narrowed his eyes. "Vera Misham."

"Her idiocy was almost pitiable," Kristoph said, "She served her purpose well, but what good was she after that?"

"It was _her_ case that people believed," Apollo protested. His muscles tensed, revealing his irritation. "She changed the course of the law."

"The _people_, you say." Kristoph's lofty voice mutated into a snarl. "Each and every one of them were swine. Animals ignorant in the ways of nature, left to tarnish the law." The man lifted his chin. A grin began to creep across his face. "I saw them in you, Justice. Returned to your most primal state. Reduced to nothing but fear."

Primal state…as far as Apollo knew, there was only one time when he completely lost control. He grimaced at the memory. "You drugged me with sleeping—"

"No. You begged me to get out."

Apollo hesitated.

_Everyone abandoned me._

An uncomfortable feeling started crushing Apollo's confidence. It was clear why Kristoph decided to bring that up—to regain some semblance of power. Still, the very thought of it made his words die in his throat. He'd been truly desperate, and Kristoph—

Kristoph leaned against the coffee table, seeming absolutely pleased.

"Tell me, Justice…what caused you to break down?"

A number of things, really. A sense of loss. A deep feeling of despair. A slow spiral towards hopelessness, leading to dissociation and a last-ditch effort.

He could mention any one of those reasons. None of them would be what Kristoph was looking for.

"You…you were right before," Apollo admitted. He watched Kristoph's smile warp into a smirk. "I was afraid. I—I _am_ afraid." He grasped his forearms, digging his nails into his skin. "Everyone I ever looked up to just…left me behind. I just—"

Apollo stopped. The cut on his palm twinged from the pressure. He turned over his hand, noticing the bandages loosen and become undone.

"I don't want to be alone."

And Kristoph laughed.

"As I said. A base instinct, forcing a moment of weakness from you," Kristoph concluded. There was an air of smugness to the man's demeanor. "Fear made you irrational. Useless, even."

Apollo curled his hand into a fist, not caring for the pain. Kristoph was always right about him. For months, he'd rejected the idea, but today…he'd come to terms with it. The man latched onto his most vulnerable moments, consistently offering insight that was, at its core, correct.

It hurt.

"So, the weak are afraid," Apollo said.

"Very much so," Kristoph replied.

"And the weak deserve to die."

"Yes."

He could give in. Kristoph just said that he _deserved_ to die, and he could ask why. They could travel deeper and deeper into that endless tunnel, until Apollo passed out from exhaustion and Kristoph immersed himself in the darkness.

_Not worth it._

No matter how much it stung, Kristoph held him hostage with his emotions. Feeding off of Apollo's staunch denial, coercing him to revisit agonizing memories at every turn…the man was an expert at driving him mad.

Naturally, Apollo learned something.

It was Kristoph's turn.

"If you really believe weak people should die…why did you kill Zak Gramarye?"

Kristoph's self-satisfied stare turned icy. "He was a fool."

"But he wasn't afraid. He defied you, without fearing for himself," Apollo pressed. With each statement, he noticed Kristoph struggle to rein in his temper. "According to you, he's not weak. And you still killed him."

"He was terrified to lose the trial," Kristoph argued.

"He was _cautious_." Apollo emphasized the distinction, raising his hand in a calming gesture. "You know this, Mr. Gavin. You saw how confident he was, both on and off the stage."

Kristoph pushed away from the coffee table and began pacing again. The man's steps were more rapid this time…almost frantic.

Realization struck.

"It wasn't him. It was _you._ _You_ were afraid of something," Apollo said. Kristoph gave him a black look, but the pieces were beginning to fall in place so perfectly that he couldn't let go. "Was it weakness, then? Do _you_ deserve to die?"

"Your turn is up," Kristoph snapped.

"I know," Apollo conceded. "I got you to think about it, though."

The man scoffed, turning towards the flames. "You devalue your own life, yet you seek to preach to me."

"I—"

"No. You will _not_ defend yourself," Kristoph interjected. There it was—raw anger, slowly seeping through. "You believe life can never be worthless. Yet mere days ago, I watched your mouth drip with blood after you nearly wasted yours on Wright." Apollo grimaced. His tongue had healed up—faster than he'd expected, honestly—but he was sure he'd caused some nerve damage. "Explain why you would sacrifice yourself."

Apollo hadn't actually planned to sacrifice his life, but looking back on it…well, he'd been prepared to. Suicide hadn't been his prime goal. Still, he had to consider the risk itself.

He'd been ready to suffer. He'd been ready to bleed. If things went awry…

"It would have been worth it to me," Apollo answered. "I didn't want to lose anyone again. Especially not…family."

Apollo took a breath, thinking about what he just said. There it was—the last piece in the set.

Trucy had been like a little sister to him from the moment they'd met. The Agency itself quickly became his new home, feeling cozier with each cooking session and night he slept. And Mr. Wright…

He'd been hung up on Mr. Wright. He'd never had a little sister. Changing homes felt normal. Conversely…there was something terrifying about the idea of Phoenix being so close. That position in his life had been filled and left possessed by grief so many times already. He used to think that if he let Phoenix in, the man would soon join the others and dissolve into nothingness.

Well, _he_ was the one who'd vanished this time. Despite that, Phoenix was still trying to get to him.

"You _are_ his son, then," Kristoph stated.

"He's…one of my father figures," Apollo reflected. "There's also my biological dad…my foster father, Dhurke…and you."

Some part of him had always known. After all, there was always that strange heaviness in his heart that accompanied the memory of all three. Cheerful stories about his musician father felt somber with each new iteration. Dhurke's role in his childhood—that of a fearless figure, arms always open to save him—was faded, now filled with resentment. Then there was the cool disciplinarian…the ever-patient educator…his mentor…

He looked up at Kristoph. The man stood in front of him, yet he was still grieving the loss. It had taken him a while to register it, but now he was sure…he'd already buried Kristoph in his head a long time ago.

"Ridiculous," Kristoph spat, eyes vibrant with fury. "A mediocre attempt at flattery. Or a wretched _lie_, for which you will lose this game at last—"

"No. Just the truth," Apollo interrupted. "You took care of me. Like you would a son."

The man shook his head. "It was my duty—"

"It wasn't. You never _had_ to feed me. You never _had_ to give me company, and never _had_ to give me a place to sleep." Apollo kept his gaze steady, listing off each instance with resolve. "I don't think draping your blazer over a tired employee is standard office conduct, either."

Kristoph moved closer to him, placing a clawed hand on one of the armrests. Knuckles jutting. Nails turning white. Apollo sank deeper in the chair as the man towered over him, meeting a cold and forbidding glare.

"You are _nothing_ to me."

Apollo's wrist ached. His bracelet closed tighter around his skin.

At last, a lie.

"Well, tell me something then, Mr. Gavin," Apollo said. "I'm afraid. I'm weak. I deserve to die. Then why…why did you _really_ save me from that snowstorm?"

Uncertainty consumed Kristoph's expression for all but a second. The man waved his hand, as if dismissing the emotion.

"You believed it was to prepare your body for Wright," Kristoph said. "To revel in his—"

"That was _my_ guess at the time. I asked for _your_ explanation," Apollo elaborated. Kristoph was tricky, but he was getting much better at catching it. "And I'll know if you lie."

Kristoph abruptly turned back towards the fire. The man's glasses flashed in the vermillion light. "Call it sentimentality."

"Sentiment—?"

"Freezing is a gruesome death, Justice," Kristoph snapped. "You'd have died paralyzed like a common house fly."

Apollo couldn't see the man's expression anymore. However, Kristoph's vivid imagery indicated that this wasn't just a fleeting thought.

"You couldn't watch me die."

"Not in such a painstaking manner." Kristoph explained instantly. The man turned back, lips pressed into a thin line. "It would be brutal of me. Monstrous, even." Apollo furrowed his brow. Kristoph's hostility only grew. "Would you have preferred freezing? Perhaps I will arrange it for you."

"No. Good question, though," Apollo said.

A free turn. Thank god for Kristoph's impatience.

Kristoph seemed far less delighted by the error. The next sentence escaped through gritted teeth. "Go. On."

"Do you believe your father was a monster?" Apollo asked.

Kristoph's entire body grew rigid.

"Absolutely not."

"You said it'd be monstrous of you to watch me die that slowly."

No response.

The question seemed to have caught Kristoph off guard. Apollo tapped his fingers against his cheek, trying to draw out a more convincing answer.

"Choking's a slow death too, Kristoph."

Nothing.

There was a clear connection here. Kristoph's silence spoke volumes.

"You can't answer, can you?" Apollo said, after another minute.

_Am I…winning?_

"Be patient, Justice," Kristoph seethed. Apollo was already thinking ahead.

"Actually, maybe you_ do_ have an answer. You clearly don't believe your first response." He waited, expecting something more. Kristoph kept walking in circles and circles around the room. "So, monster or not?"

A conflicted look crossed Kristoph's face. It lingered this time—rather than a fading flash, it tempered the man's sullenness.

It felt genuine.

"He never gave much regard to humanity," Kristoph admitted.

Apollo tried prodding for details. "Then—?"

"Yes." Kristoph cut him off, averting his gaze. "Perhaps, some part of me…believes he may have been monstrous."

The man refused to look him in the eye. Apollo understood. This was probably the first time Kristoph had ever thought in such a way, considering that the man's initial reaction hadn't been an outright lie. It would be hard to process such a monumental—

Kristoph shook his head, laughing again. This time, under his breath.

Uncontrollable. Nervous.

Apollo could sense it.

"Curious," Kristoph continued. "The whole world deems me a monster, and yet…you ask me about my father." Bitterness crept into Kristoph's tone. It felt strange to see the man's praise shift to resentment within moments. "What makes you so intrigued by him?"

"He's not interesting. He's _sickening_," Apollo clarified. Just as Kristoph's true emotions were coming to light, so were his. The words he'd struggled to say…he could finally speak them. "You should never have been treated like that."

Kristoph's eyes flicked back towards him. They were neutral, now.

"It has shaped me," the man said.

"Exactly!" Apollo exclaimed. Defensiveness was no stranger to him, but he was tired of waiting outside Kristoph's walls. "Living in constant fear isn't normal, Kristoph. He made you this way."

Kristoph's fingers twitched. His mouth twisted into a frown, uneasiness oozing out of his very core.

"You have a gross misconception of him," Kristoph insisted. The man's voice sounded…strained. "He was stern. He was strict. But his words never echoed in my mind when I made my own decisions."

Maybe not. It wasn't as if Kristoph's father had been whispering heinous schemes into the man's ear.

_Mr. Wright didn't tell me to save Kristoph, either._

Here they were, though.

"His legacy haunts you," Apollo said. "You're not afraid of failure. You're afraid of _weakness._"

The constant analyzing. The neglect. The choking incident. All ways to create the perfect son—a calculating boy, independent and immune to all threats.

Now, as a man, Kristoph could never forget his father's three teachings.

Love was pointless. Emotions were impractical.

"Evidence is everything."

Apollo crossed his arms and tilted his head.

He knew what he'd said.


	26. Redemption

The phrase had slipped out of Apollo's mouth with ease. It was the only conclusion he could reach—every story, every sentiment Kristoph had entrusted him with led up to this moment.

In the waning firelight, Kristoph seemed to pale.

"Using my own words against me," Kristoph said, after a moment's pause. Shock had reduced his voice to a low hiss. "Clever of you. And…_typical._"

Venom dripped from each sentence that escaped Kristoph's lips. There lay the coiled snake—stunned, left waiting for its next strike.

Apollo was too swift.

"Your words, huh?" he countered. The judgement fell quick. "Your father would be disappointed."

Merciless, yet precise. He caught the tremor in Kristoph's hands, and knew at once that his insight was correct.

How arrogant could a man be? To face a judge, a jury, and still taunt that he could walk free? Apollo wasn't convinced. Kristoph was cautious by nature. That moment of hubris was fueled not by a claim, but by a _belief._

Every belief came from somewhere.

"Mr. Gavin. You once told me that you'd never act like him," Apollo said. "As far as I know, you never did."

Kristoph's face had grown ashen. For a minute, the man's thin frame seemed frail. "Just take your turn, Justice."

"I'm not done." Apollo leaned back in his chair. His mind was swirling with connections, dragging him further down. "You were trained to find nervous tics. Same as me, except…your father abandoned you." He tapped his chin. Kristoph tensed. "So, you rejected his views."

"I respect his perspective," Kristoph stated. The man's tone had become cold. Clipped.

"Still, you disagree."

Kristoph's reluctance was palpable. Apollo disregarded it.

"Your father said _every_ man has a weakness," he pressed on. "You don't think so, though. You want to believe you're untouchable." He traced idle spirals into the armrest, his gaze clear and piercing. "That's why you rely on evidence. Not emotions."

Apollo stopped. He noticed Kristoph begin to curl inwards, as if being dealt physical abuse.

His eyes gleamed.

"Weakness terrifies you."

The satisfaction Apollo felt upon meeting Kristoph's broken stare seemed almost sinister. He didn't care. For once, the game was actually entertaining.

"I am _not_ weak," the man objected.

Denial. Apollo latched onto it. _Savored_ it.

"You aren't, generally. The lapses when you are, though…_that's_ what you fear," he explained. Another spark lit up his brain. "Zak Gramarye saw through your weaknesses. That's why you lost the poker game."

"No—"

"_Yes._ Don't lie."

Apollo rose to his feet. He could see the veins in Kristoph's hands pulsing. The blood rushing against the man's taut skin.

"You—" Kristoph started.

"You couldn't control yourself after losing like that. It drove you crazy that he knew your vulnerabilities." Apollo shut him down easily, stepping towards the fireplace. "You'd do anything to get rid of that feeling."

A flicker of fear in Kristoph's eyes. A rare sight.

"Stay where you are," Kristoph commanded. Apollo ignored him.

"You _slipped._"

An animalistic look corrupted the man's face. Kristoph jerked his arm to the side, reaching for the fireplace poker.

Apollo bolted forward, grabbing Kristoph's wrist with an iron grip.

"Is that why you tried to be Mr. Wright's friend? To keep an illusion of perfection?" Apollo interrogated. The man struggled against him, failing to escape.

"Don't. You. Dare," Kristoph growled.

For the first time, Apollo realized how sweet desperation could be.

"Answer the question," he said. He kept steady as Kristoph backed farther and farther away.

"Wright…was valuable in other ways," the man said, teeth clenched. They pulled back and forth, drawing every nearer to the dying flames.

Apollo was getting impatient.

"Play the goddamn game, Gavin."

His hold tightened. Kristoph's carpal bones shifted under his fingers.

"Weakness is unacceptable in law, Justice," Kristoph spat. The back of the man's shoe hit the base of the fireplace. "I couldn't allow my opponent to glimpse it in me."

_Nowhere to go._

Apollo felt Kristoph's skin strain from the force of his clutch.

"Mr. Wright's perceptiveness. You knew about it, and knew he'd see through you eventually," Apollo said. He relished the sight of the cornered man—once a dream, now a reality. "And the Mishams'…if they made the connection, they'd have known you'd lost your mind."

"Fine. Let us discuss your idiotic thesis," Kristoph snarled. A manic glint struck the man's gaze. "Everyone in the courtroom watched me break down. _That_ was my greatest moment of weakness."

Disheveled hair. Unhinged screaming. To this day, Apollo could see every moment clearly. "I agree."

"Then do you expect me to hunt down every last juror who witnessed it? Why would I focus on Wright?"

Smart avenue to explore. Apollo paused, thinking aloud.

"You picked me. Not Vera, not Klavier, not even Mr. Wright." He could feel Kristoph's fingers quivering. His hand remained locked. "They had police guards there, but you didn't know that. Besides, you're clever enough to find a way past."

"Get to the point," Kristoph snapped.

"Everyone knows your weakness. They'd see you differently. But I…" Apollo hesitated. His mind burned, regret creeping out of its depths. "I'd see you the same as before."

Kristoph winced. A simple reflex.

Apollo's dwindling pleasure twisted into disgust.

_No._

He let go.

His memory of Kristoph had been preserved too well. A vision of a soft gaze, alleviating his worries. A phantom touch to his cheek. He'd lean into it, pretending to be asleep. And Kristoph would stand above him, running a gentle hand through his hair, letting him breathe.

"You were special to me," Apollo said. He stepped back, giving Kristoph space. "I'd never think of you as anything less. You chose me so you could feel in control again."

Kristoph massaged his wrist. A strange calm enveloped them both.

"What does this have to do with Wright?"

Apollo froze in place. His heart raced.

Phoenix Wright. A man who seemed apathetic towards him. Who accused him, who _used_ him…who didn't trust him, even until the very end.

Who still cared about him, despite how blind he'd been.

"Mr. Wright has only one weakness. His family," Apollo said. "If you killed me or Trucy, you'd make him understand what you felt. Fear and weakness in a single heavy blow."

Kristoph tilted his head. "I may still kill you myself."

"You won't."

The confusion that had been swirling through Apollo's thoughts was disappearing at last. Days of uncertainty, fading away. It finally made sense why Kristoph kept him alive…and why the man was in denial every time.

"_I'm_ your weakness, Kristoph."

The man's tenuous curiosity dissolved into doubt.

"Optimistic," Kristoph dismissed.

"Then why do you still care about me?" Apollo persisted.

"You're projecting."

"I'm not, and you know it."

Kristoph seemed irritated when Apollo identified the lie with ease. The man's tone became dry and practical.

"I grew attached to you when I taught you. Your foundation for practicing law came from me." Kristoph's first few statements were blunt, but his voice began to waver slightly. "I couldn't help but remain proud of you."

If this were the past, Apollo's happiness would have surged. He could imagine himself bounding about, repeating Mr. Gavin's words to himself every few seconds.

_He's proud of me. He's proud of me. He's proud of me._

That didn't matter now.

"You've seen me be weak multiple times. In court, in the office…and especially here," Apollo said, drawing back to his earlier point. "You never punished me."

Kristoph gestured to his bandaged hand. "I believe I have."

"No. Because you still haven't killed me." Apollo pointed at Kristoph, his finger resting over the man's heart. "The weak deserve to die, right, Mr. Gavin? That means you and me."

Kristoph brushed his hand away, still visibly skeptical. "By that logic, Wright deserves to die as well."

"Yes. And so does Klavier, for believing in you. And your mother, for struggling to support you both." Apollo drew his palm to his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow. "Everyone who's ever suffered would deserve to die. And that means, _everyone._"

They both stood still, trapped in contemplation. The silence felt familiar to Apollo. Comforting. An embrace. A distant memory, come to life.

"Perhaps my logic is…flawed," Kristoph conceded.

Apollo felt a rush of hope. It filled the hollow cavities of his chest, engulfing his core with a warm glow.

_He listened._

He opened his mouth to speak. Before he could say anything, the man raised a hand to stop him.

"Tell me this first, Justice," Kristoph said. "Should I simply let go of Wright for ruining my life?"

Relief was replaced by reservations. The answer itself was simple: a resounding _yes_. Still, Apollo knew it wasn't going to be that straightforward. The reasoning behind it had to be solid, or else all of his work would fall through.

Sensing his incertitude, Kristoph pushed further. "You let go of Wright, despite his forged evidence. Yet you claim that your greatest attachment is to the truth."

The man had a point. Phoenix's recklessness could have cost Apollo his reputation, his career…his entire reason for living. Everything could have slipped through his fingers, and it wouldn't even have been his fault.

And _that_ was distinction.

"What Mr. Wright did was wrong. Absolutely wrong," Apollo said. To this day, he believed that. Case won or not…to him, a line had been crossed. "The difference is, you sabotaged _yourself_, Kristoph. You were so afraid of weakness that you started this whole mess."

Apollo reached out, placing a hand on Kristoph's shoulder. His tone dropped low.

"Mr. Wright didn't ruin your life. Your father did."

To Apollo's surprise, Kristoph did not immediately smack him away. Instead, the man seemed discouraged. "I should wave away Wright laughing in my face, by that account."

"You have to. It's pointless now," Apollo said. He dropped his touch. "No matter what you do, the glaring truth remains. This is something that you have to fix yourself—not through revenge."

The smoldering embers looked like tiny stars in the blackness of the ash. Without the flames, only a dim light remained.

"You'd be satisfied, if you were wondering," Apollo continued. The look on Kristoph's face told him that he'd guessed right. "Satisfied, but more fearful each day. It would consume you. You…you can't keep this up, Kristoph."

Shadows danced across their faces. In the darkening room, Apollo felt at peace.

"Do you know why I'm so sure, Mr. Gavin?"

Kristoph sighed. "I am not."

"I'm like you."

The man didn't react. He simply adjusted his glasses, the lens flash hiding his eyes. "How so?"

"I'm afraid that everyone I trust just disappears. I trust less, and then the desperation shines through." Apollo began unwinding the bandages from his hand. Kristoph only watched. "I keep isolating myself. I can blame it on whoever I want, but ultimately, it's my fault." The gauze fell to the ground. Apollo traced the jagged cuts with his thumb. "That's why I break easily."

Kristoph turned away. "We are not the same."

Apollo's bracelet tightened.

"Don't lie. You'll lose the game if you lie. Please, admit it." Apollo grasped Kristoph's sleeve with his sliced hand. He knew he was pleading, but he had to break through. "Just admit it, Kristoph. I'm exactly like you, and you know it."

Kristoph was quiet. Expressionless. Apollo grew nervous, trying once more.

"Don't you think we're the same, Mr. Gavin?"

Twitching fingers. Tensed hands. A sheen of sweat on the man's forehead, barely visible in the encroaching night.

"No."

Apollo didn't need his bracelet to point out the obvious. "You're still lying."

"Prove it, then."

Kristoph whipped back towards him in an instant, fixing him with an intense gaze. There was no hatred or hostility in it—just pure challenge.

Apollo didn't flinch.

"You treated me the way you wished you'd been treated. With patience. Forgiveness." He ran through everything they'd gone through in the past few days. The memories still pained him, but together, they had value. "You gave me space. You stopped hurting me. You…listened to me." Apollo's voice grew soft. He released Kristoph's sleeve, instead wrapping his arms around himself. "You cared about me, regardless of what I did. And you didn't kill me. Is that enough?"

The man moved closer to him, outstretched fingers reaching to comb through Apollo's hair. Apollo closed his eyes. Kristoph had done this so many times that the motion had started to repulse him, but today…he felt nothing. Simply normal.

"Bravo, Justice. It is enough."

"You lost." Kristoph's hand withdrew. Apollo looked back up, meeting Kristoph's cool gaze. "You lied twice in a row. I even gave you a chance."

"Ah, yes." The man seemed quite unfazed by the declaration. The lack of response kept Apollo's triumph at bay. "Although, _you_ have asked two questions in succession."

"What? When did I—?" Apollo began, before catching himself.

Kristoph cast him a pleasant smile, raising two fingers. "Let's revisit, shall we? One: 'Don't you think we're the same?' And, of course, two: 'Is that enough?'"

Dread dropped into Apollo's stomach. He resisted the urge to curl into a little ball on the floor and rock back and forth for eternity.

_I was three words away._

"However, I am not unreasonable, Justice," Kristoph said, before he could give into the temptation. "Answer one last question, and the game is yours."

_One last opportunity._

"Go ahead," Apollo said. He'd done well so far. If he managed to get through this, he could get through anything.

Kristoph held Apollo's injured hand. The man's bruised wrist cast a shadow over the cuts.

"You are correct. The fault lies within me," Kristoph started. Apollo looked away in shame at the sight of the man's injury. "Revenge on Wright is an urge I may never quell. Still, with time…I may be able to overcome it."

A light touch to his chin brought Apollo's eyes back. He saw a glimpse of the man he once knew—tranquil, serene, soothing.

"Then, Justice…what do you expect me to do now? The first step towards redemption?"

The question shot through Apollo's thoughts like a blazing arrow, destroying everything in his path.

He was drawing a blank.

This couldn't happen now. It was a valid question, and one that Apollo so deeply wanted to answer. Victory was on the line, of course, but even without it…this was the final piece. The key in changing Kristoph's actions for the better.

And he couldn't think of a single thing.

"I…I don't know," Apollo said, under his breath. Kristoph raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure if you can be redeemed."

Apollo understood Kristoph. He knew what drove the man to the depths of brutality. Still, that knowledge didn't mean that he _forgave_ him. At the end of the day, two people had still died. Families were still destroyed because of this fractured murderer.

"Surely you must have _some_ idea of where I should go from here," Kristoph encouraged. Apollo began to feel sick. "Solitary confinement will not allow for such growth."

What _was_ redemption, anyway? Was it the same as forgiveness? Was it different? Apollo pulled away from Kristoph, his head spinning. No…it was closer to atonement. What was atonement, then? He wasn't sure.

All he knew was that he could never forgive Kristoph. No matter how much the man improved. No matter how much he understood. Kristoph would always be a murderer.

Had this whole discussion been meaningless?

"I really don't know," Apollo said. He wanted to help Kristoph—he was dying to help him in some aspect, _any_ aspect, but found himself at a crossroads. There had to be a solution. It couldn't end like this. "I need more time."

Kristoph shook his head.

"It seems we are tied. A lie on my part, and a lack of answer on yours." The man laughed. It sounded empty. "Truly a perfect end."

Anxiety flooded Apollo's system. Panic bled into his tone as he tried to recover, desperate for a solution. "I-I can really help you, Mr. Gavin. Please. Please just trust me, I just need more time, and I'll—"

"I would trust you, if you had won," Kristoph interrupted. "As it stands, we are at a draw."

No. Not like this. He'd been subject to all forms of torment over the past few days, but this was the worst type. He'd come so close. He couldn't just let go.

He _wouldn't_ let go.

"We can both do what was promised. You trust me, and I'll…I'll still drink the tea."

Phoenix and Klavier were coming to save him, right? So it didn't matter. Kristoph's poison would never even reach his lips if their plan was in action.

...they were coming soon, right? Klavier said not to leave the apartment. That meant it _must_ be soon. They wouldn't leave him waiting here to die, they would be rushing over as soon as they could and he'd be rescued. He'd see Mr. Wright, he'd see Trucy, he'd see Klavier, everything would be just fine. It'd be fine. This was just a small risk in that context, wasn't it? He wasn't going to die. Not _really_, anyways. This was just a trick, a sham, an ace's bluff—

"Justice. Are you…" Kristoph started, before dropping off. The man's incredulous stare revealed that Apollo had left him speechless.

"Yes. I'm sure," Apollo replied, although far too quickly. His nerves were still shot. What for, though? He'd be fine, he'd be fine, he'd be— "Fine. It's fine. Trust me, please."

Kristoph seemed uneasy. _That_ was new.

"Alright," the man said, after a pause. "How shall we proceed?"

The snowstorm was set to end on Thursday. Klavier had answered the phone around 2:00 AM Monday, and he'd ran out of the apartment right after. Once Kristoph rescued him, he'd stayed up the whole rest of the day...so today must still be Monday. Well, Monday night.

That left approximately two days until Kristoph went after Mr. Wright.

"Okay. Tomorrow…let's think about your situation," Apollo said. "We'll find something. I'll make sure of it. We'll do the same on Wednesday, and then…Thursday morning, I'll drink the tea."

Kristoph's brow furrowed. What did that mean? Did he catch on? Was it that easy?

"I'm concerned for you, Justice," Kristoph said.

Kristoph. _Concerned._

Apollo's mind reeled at the novelty.

"What's wrong with that?" he asked. Kristoph's frown deepened.

"You are…an anomaly," the man said. "You'd spend your last days helping me…the very cause of your death."

Apollo shuddered. Said aloud, it sounded much more ominous. The word itself hung heavy. Death. **Death.**

_Deathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeath—_

"W-What are you thinking, then?"

"You will spend one day helping me. That day will be tomorrow," Kristoph instructed. Apollo listened carefully, trying to drown out the screeching despair. "On Wednesday, you will have your last day. I will allow you to do whatever you'd like, within reason." Not his _real_ last day, of course. Phoenix and Klavier were coming. Oh, they were _definitely_ coming. "On Thursday morning, as you said, you shall drink the solution I've prepared for you."

"That sounds fair," Apollo agreed. His mind screamed, but he continued to suppress the hysteria.

"Good." Kristoph moved away from him, gesturing towards Apollo's room. "Get some rest."

Apollo stared at him, confused. "In…my bed?"

"Yes, of course."

"But you…actually, never mind."

It didn't make sense to question the man's decisions now. As far as Kristoph thought, Apollo would be gone in two days.

_Gone._

No, he wouldn't be! Phoenix and Klavier were coming!

Apollo already knew that he wouldn't sleep tonight.

He walked past Kristoph and to his room, trying to quell his mind. Before he entered, he turned back one last time.

"Goodnight, Kristoph."

Night had fallen. The room was swallowed in darkness.

Kristoph's glasses flashed. A tiger's eyes, looming in the gloom.

"Sleep well."


End file.
